Table for Two

by Amor Towles

For to serve the ones we love and receive their approval in return, need life be any more complicated than that?

What Communism actually guaranteed is that in place of lineage and luck, the State would determine who should get what after taking careful account of the greater good.

“After all,” said Litvinov with a smile, “isn’t a broom just a very large paintbrush?”

Why, Timothy’s parents hadn’t even bothered to succumb to alcoholism or file for divorce. Oh, what crueler irony could there be than for the gods to infuse a young man with dreams of literary fame and then provide him with no experiences?

Emotional contagion is a term coined by behavioral scientists for a fairly universal aspect of human nature—that we tend to mirror the mood signals of others.

“On Christmas morning, there’s such a thin line between elation and disappointment. Do

Nell felt the stirring of conflicting emotions—of excitement and anxiety, righteousness and dread. But

anything worth doing is worth doing systematically. Within

By the time he shares his opinion, not only has he carefully chosen his vocabulary, he has crafted complex sentences and persuasive analogies. He has even considered likely rebuttals and fashioned counterarguments. So detailed and well articulated is his position once he decides to air it that you feel a little helpless to argue against it—even when it never made any sense in the first place.

“So, wait a second,” I said, my voice rising a little. “Are you going to apologize or explain?” He looked at me. “Both.” “Sweetie, if you want to wait here so you can explain-ogize, that’s fine. But I’m going home.”

But however petty or brief had been the exchange, Tommy needed an explicit affirmation from his counterpart that no ill will would linger.

Peter and Sharon were of that generation which had set itself apart from thousands of years of human behavior by showing an interest in the opinions of their children.

The limitations of choosing a twenty-pound turkey as the centerpiece of the Thanksgiving meal have only been compounded by the inexplicable tradition of having every member of the family contribute a dish. Relatives who should never be allowed to set foot in a kitchen are suddenly walking through your door with some sort of vegetable casserole in which the “secret ingredient” is mayonnaise. And when cousin Betsy arrives with such a mishap in hand, one can take no comfort from thoughts of the future, for once a single person politely compliments the dish, its presence at Thanksgiving will be deemed sacrosanct. Then not even the death of cousin Betsy can save you from it, because as soon as she’s in the grave, her daughter will proudly pick up the baton. Served at an inconvenient hour, prepared by such an army of chefs that half the dishes are overcooked, half are undercooked, and all are served cold, Thanksgiving is not a meal for a man who eats with discernment.

right: If one is to maintain the slightest hint of pride, his curtains must be drawn, his breakfast cleared, and his chin closely shaved. By the time Prentice finished