my reading

i just finished *a chance meeting*, by rachel cohen, a pleasingly gossipy book about american writers and artists--and one general, u.s. grant--over the course of the turn of the century and up to duchamp and john cage and people like that. each chapter features one encounter, and its context. it seems i am only interested in the nonfiction of fiction these days. maybe this is the beginning of a transition from exclusively fiction to just nonfiction. or maybe i will remain stuck here in the land of belles lettres for the rest of my life.

i did also just finish a nonfiction book about adoption, *a love like no other*. it's a collection of essays about adoption experiences. domestic, international, multi-racial, gay, straight, single, married, with no other kids, with biological kids, open, anonymous. although the stories were fascinating--i read it in two nights--i found myself most interested in the glimpses of the writers' lifestyles, the periphery. they are mostly magazine journalists. wow. there are people who make a living by writing.

p.s. welcome back, compy.