Confessions of a Literary Obsessive

Everyone knows what an obsessive is. He’s someone who washes his hands every two minutes. Or organizes her fruit by ascending size and color. Or can’t leave the house without tapping the corners of the oriental rug twelve times with his bare toes....

Lighten Up, Vampires. It’s All Good.

The fan above my writing desk has been spinning all summer. Most of the time, I’m not aware of it. But several times a day – more than several, if the writing isn’t going well – I’ll lean back and notice the irritating sound it makes,...

Turtles All the Way Down

Last night, before I fell asleep, I thought to myself, “I need to write a column tomorrow.” I proceeded to dream about a strange quest in which I piloted a stolen dirigible, rode an avalanche down a Himalayan mountain, and steered a raft through deadly...

The Soul of the Person Holding the Match

When I think about book burning, the first image that comes to mind is a Nazi rally in early 1933 in Berlin, in the course of which about 20,000 books were put to the torch. These were works by Jewish authors and others considered by the Nazi regime to be...

The Buzz on Country Living

I may have mentioned once or twice that I was raised in a city. Growing up in a city had certain advantages and disadvantages. The easy availability of gasoline, for instance: advantage. Lack of visible stars at night: disadvantage. Wonderful libraries and...

The Sweet Misfortune of Others

Last week I wrote about the small pleasures of replacing a garbage disposer. It was a quiet column about a quietly satisfying home repair. It wasn’t the easiest job in the world, but nothing went badly wrong. I observed that this was not the usual course of...