Unexpected reading

Unexpected reading

Dusting a crammed shelf next to my desk, my working copy of Trapped falls to the floor and I pick it up and open it.

It is unexpected reading; and I am scared, not because, as used to be the case, I am anxious about finding grammar glitches and typos, but because I wonder now, how I will feel about the writing, and the experiences after so long. Have they finally left me and gone away to a dignified retirement? Am I encouraged by what I read?

I’m baffled and bemused to...