Spend half an hour wandering through the stacks of a decent sized library and you’ll quickly be overwhelmed by the…
The photographs appear periodically on my Facebook wall. Friends and acquaintances post them and reminisce about simpler, and if not better,…
The month I started writing this piece I got into my first bike accident. The only really notable thing about…
On a cool night in May 2015, our fifteen-year-old son, Finn, went missing for three hours. For most parents of…
for George Elliott Clarke I don’t like to be thought of as a “black writer,” largely because I refuse to…
A talk given on the occasion of the unveiling of a plaque by the Writers’ Chapel Trust at St. James…
In chapter three of Barbara Kingsolver’s 1988 novel The Bean Trees, Taylor Greer and Turtle, the toddler who was deposited…
I If the inhabitants of a certain Victorian townhouse in Lampeter, west Wales, ever strip the wallpaper in one of…
I was eighteen when I read L’Étranger for the first time. I read it in French in a freshman class…
I grew up in a suburb of Toronto, during the 1980s, which is to say, Before Internet. What it meant…