“It’s November now and there’s something different afoot. In...

“It’s November now and there’s something different afoot. In November,
when the nights get long and the days get cold, as we approach the long
dark that is winter, we feel that hand following us down the hall. We
feel death’s presence and are therefore more alert to our own. November
makes us know, at the edges of our mind, that for each of us, looming
winter will one day stretch into eternal darkness. So we welcome the
dead among us, remember them, invite them back, and we eat and drink and
let the boundaries dissolve, and we are more certain that we’re alive.
That’s what’s on offer in November. It makes us know, at the edges of
our mind, that we still cast shadows, that we are still bones and blood,
that for now, for now, our heft is still heated. Feel it?”

Every Wednesday this month, I’ll be writing about the month of November for the Paris Review. Read the first installment here.