The Kindness of Readers

These two things happened yesterday: First, Elizabeth Mosier, a writer and friend, called. That in itself was lovely enough, but a few minutes into the conversation I understood that she had called to talk with me about Nothing but Ghosts—that she'd read the book, turned down the corner on pages, followed the symbols, understood what had been in my heart, celebrated that finch. It's not unlike Libby to do something like this, but what does it say about her, really, that she had taken that time—to read, to think, and, mostly, to acknowledge? She's finishing her own book, reading the manuscripts of many others, celebrating the books that her countless other friends have published this summer, preparing to teach at Bryn Mawr in the fall—and still. She took the time.

So that happened. And then, much later, when day had become night and (to be honest) early morn, I discovered these words on Laurie Beth Schneider's book site, Doughnuts 'n Things. I quote them not to elevate myself, somehow, but because her phrasing here touches me so deeply—because her phrasing is poetry itself: Beth Kephart is a master of capturing the eternal that exists within the ephemeral, using the shiftiest of mediums: words. Ghosts is a beautiful story of a girl, but it is also a meditation on the nature of what lasts, whether it's beauty, love, or regret.

Postscript: And just this moment, I discover this, from Word Lily. I think I need to go sit somewhere quiet and send up words of thanks.