The Collected Stories Of Deborah Eisenberg - Plot & Excerpts
Never, these days—almost never. When I was what, about twenty, I suppose, I finally got around to reading the little book you’d written about Sándor. It only took an afternoon, and when I finished, I put the book away, along with various old, disorderly feelings, and just left the whole clutter for about thirty years’ worth of dust to settle over. Well, except for once, when Neil (a person who used to be my husband) returned from a business trip to somewhere and mentioned that he’d happened to catch a glimpse, on some highbrow TV talk show, of a man—perhaps the man I’d mentioned at some time—who seemed possibly to have been something of an authority on my uncle, or my mother’s uncle, or whatever it was Sándor had been to me. Naturally, that sort of called you up for a bit, and then you sank back out of my thoughts again. But you know what, Peter? Yesterday at the service, I turned around at exactly the moment you showed up and slipped into the back row. So what do you think of that?
What do You think about The Collected Stories Of Deborah Eisenberg?
