During the lonely days of Covid, while in a text conversation with a longtime friend, I wrote that I was reading Julian Barnes’ novel, The Only Story.
Why? my friend texted back.
He is one of the most well-read people I’ve ever known—and we’ve had many conversations about contemporary and classic literature. He is one of those people who went into the book business because of his lifelong obsession with any and all literature. He’d had early dreams of being a writer but found his calling in publication and promotion. He’s younger than me but had grown up in the library stacks. Perhaps he’d briefly entertained the thought of becoming a librarian. I’m not sure if that’s true but I’m positive that he’s memorized the Dewey Decimal System and wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he has 800-899 tattooed above his heart. Or on his lower back. A literary tramp stamp.
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