In your mind, you would furnish it with geometrical leather furniture, framed emulsions of oil splatter mounted on the walls, and a gnocchi maker. In reality, he bought the fifty-year-old North Shore home he grew up in, a four-bedroom rancher set deep behind a phalanx of alder trees. (Purchasing the home allowed his parents to move into a condo tower that has its own on-call dog-groomer.) To his wife’s dismay, he insists on keeping much of the furniture that came with the house, like the butterscotch-coloured corduroy couch in the living room, the kitschy landscape painting his parents bought in a Havana street market, and the upright piano where he’s maintained his younger sister’s figure-skating trophies next to baby pictures of his own children, Jack and Liam. I don’t know whether this is because Harris is thrifty or sentimental; I’ve seen him both ways. Angie did succeed in getting him to buy a new bed for their master suite. “I printed out a copy of my manuscript,”
What do You think about My Year Of The Racehorse (2012)?
