There is no frigate like a book

It dawned on me last night as I finished Death Comes for the Fat Man by Reginald Hill that I stopped reading when Henry was born because reading simply took me too far away from the present moment.

It's a relief to be able to get lost in a book again, even if Cary interrupts me every so often to make me watch a hockey replay.

A presumably wonderful book I won't be reading

1. Anyone who writes or blogs about his or her family owes an unconscious debt to Calvin Trillin.
   
2. Trillin has recently published a book about his late wife entitled About Alice. There is a lovely picture of the Trillins on their wedding day, as well as a story about the book on the NPR website.
3. Why won't I be reading the book? My mother was kind enough to lend me a copy of "Alice, off the page," an essay that appeared in the New Yorker last year, which I did read. (Amy, photocopied for you, but never sent)
4. But as I read the essay tears were streaming down my face the entire time. I distinctly remember Cary was watching the US Open while I was reading, and I could not stop sobbing through nine or ten pages of text. I can't quite imagine reading an entire book about Alice.
   
5. Needless to say, she was a remarkable woman. That I happened to have been acquainted with her daughters during college may have heightened my reaction to the essay, but only slightly. I was surprised to see a reference to the essay pop up here.
6. So if you can control your sobbing, and are looking for a good book to read, check it out.