“We live in our own souls as in an unmapped region, a few acres of which we have cleared for our habitation; while of the nature of those nearest us we know but the boundaries that march with ours.” – Edith Wharton, “The Touchstone”
Reading Edith Wharton again after many years is a revelation. This next author from the 2013 reading list is one I hadn’t looked at since undergraduate school, for sure, more likely since high school. Like the good student I was, I waded through Ethan Frome at the behest of my beloved English teacher Mrs. Ragan – and promptly forgot it.
Truth is, I didn’t forget it, or the author – Wharton simply wasn’t a writer who appealed to a 16 year old with dreams of or rock and roll glory: I was more impressed with J. D. Salinger and anyone who wrote for what was…
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