An overbearing mother; a vanished sister.
Dear readers,
Every time I lose my bearings — and my soul — in a department store, I wonder: Is this how nonreaders feel at Barnes & Noble?
No, I don’t want to try a new fragrance. Yes, I’d like a fitting room, but I don’t understand why the curtain is always one inch short of full privacy. Or why the escalator is too fast/too slow/surrounded by unavoidable mirrors that make me look like Danny DeVito’s mom in “Throw Momma From the Train.” Also, why are they pushing macramé bikini “resort wear” in February?
You understand why I do most of my clothes-shopping online.
Where I live in New Jersey, it’s so cold and relentlessly gray these days, it’s hard to believe we share a planet with white sand beaches. To this end, I’d like to recommend two sun-splashed books for those of us who are not in the market for a straw visor or a colorful caftan. These novels will make you feel better about bypassing resort wear for what companies, for some reason, insist on calling a “base layer,” but you and I can still think of as long underwear.
Warmly,
Liz
“Here Comes the Sun,” by Nicole Dennis-Benn
Fiction, 2016
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Source: Elections - nytimes.com
