Dreams of My Russian Summers by Andreï Makine

There is a tune, for which I’d gladly part
With all Rossini, Weber, and Mozart,
An ancient air, whose languid melody
Has secret charms that speak only to me*…
We’ve all had them, those dreams whose intimations of life are so strong that we can see, smell, and embrace someone we love and long for just as they slip [...]

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Mister Pip

There are those people for each of us, acknowledged or not, whose influence runs so deeply and purely that we strive to become a bit of whom they are. That’s a bad sentence, but it’s late and I’m having trouble hammering out thoughts on this novel without getting too close to an emotional precipice that [...]

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