On this European trip, I brought the latest issue of Granta, the quarterly "magazine of new writing" that is really a paperback book full of great fiction and non-fiction stories (and the occasional photo essay). I tend not to read story collections sequentially; rather, I just flip and begin devouring whichever piece happens to catch my eye.
Now here's the odd thing. Adhering to this almost completely random method, I happened to read Ryszard Kapuscinski's moving short story of his WW II childhood in Poland when I was actually there; followed by Ian McEwan's set-in-London contribution shortly after I touched down in the British capital. Then, yesterday, on the train from Belfast to Dublin, I happened to tuck into John McGahern's sweet memoir of his mother, an account that takes place entirely in Ireland. All by total coincidence. Unless, of course, there's no such thing.
[posted by Rogier]


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