Essays, notes, and small observations on writing, design, and slow living.
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Invisible Cities is a book I return to every few years, usually when something in my life has gone strange or quiet. This spring it found me in the latter mood, and Calvino, as always, was patient company.
Continue reading →The first reading is for the plot. The second is for the sentences. The third is for the silences between them. Some books only become themselves on the third pass.
Continue reading →Borges is a winter writer. The labyrinths feel warmer when there's frost on the window, and the libraries feel infinite in the way only a long dark evening can.
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