![]() The exertion of making sense of the word, of even turning with the pages, all of it, too much. I picked up The Family From One End Street on a hot, hot day when my brain needed to read but could not quite cope with the effort of it. They slide in and out of hands, out of shelves and into bookshops and into somebody else’s home, moving through the ownership of a thousand readers and always, somehow, being there at the right time, knowing when it is needed, ready for it, so ready). (That’s one of the great appeals of classics for me because they understand that journey more than most. And it’s never personal because you know that when you need it, when you want it, and just as you reach for it, you know that it was always meant to be this book for this moment, nothing else, only this. We’ve all dealt with piles of books to be read and sometimes a book can sit on that pile for weeks if not years. ![]() ![]() ![]() There are times, I think, when the world sends you the right book for the right moment. The Family From One End Street by Eve Garnett ![]()
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