I read like I eat, having to decide between the savory flavors of non-fiction and the sweet of a great story. I’ll take the bag of chips any day over a tub of ice cream. Pass the non-fiction, please. And, feeling the pressure of days since past when babies screamed and food got cold if I didn’t gobble it up in three enormous bites, I have the unhealthy habits of eating -reading – too quickly, not letting my body or mind digest the diet I give them.
My bedside table is my overstocked refrigerator, and when I feel like munching, there is a book to taste. Right now, you’d find there, along with four back issues of The Atlantic and an article from The New Yorker, which someone has clipped for me: