On Re-Discovering A Room of One’s Own

There it was. A lovely, brand new edition, lying on the shelf of the first bookshop I’d been able to browse since the beginning of the pandemic. I’d just ambled up from an outdoor brunch, iPad in tow to do a little writing, reveling in the glorious early fall day and thankful that I could get out and about. I bought it, of course. My old, dog-eared copy had been long lost in a move to New York from London thirty-four years ago. I’d probably read it online since then. But right at that moment, on...