In 1932 I was in France for the second time, and I hoped to accomplish what I had failed to do on my first visit four years earlier: an introduction to Paul Valéry.
Trying to make a living as a book reviewer, the $200 spare-parts book scanner, TriQuarterly’s future, behind the scenes at the Nobel Foundation, and more.
Without warning, a hobbled old Afghan man comes around the corner, surprising the soldier guarding the door. The soldier yells, “Stop!” The old man inches forward on his cane.
