![]() ![]() ![]() But we have a few singers, and one shining writer: 1988 Nobel Lit Prize winner, Naguib Mahfouz. I can’t name an Egyptian photographer, painter, sculptor or director. First-gen Egyptian-American that I am, I knew Egypt, and more broadly North Africa, had never been well-recognized by the global (read: Western) arts canon. But like your square meal, your reading list should include some diversity: some 18th mixed with 21st century, some male, more female, authors from around the world…ĭivine providence struck with the gift of clear recollection. I stalked the PS’s and PR’s as I always do, meal-prepping my future readings to avoid getting bored: first fiction, then maybe a memoir and some essays, but I could always go for more fiction, something yummy before something dense. Strolling through with my borrowed Trader Joe’s shopping bag, I perused the aisles, which unlike their grocery store counterparts, were fully stocked. I can’t credit some divine foresight for leading me to grab these books with indefinite due dates (currently Green is asking for books backs sometime in June, but we’ll see), but I usually like to let something beyond the rational guide me through the third-floor stacks. I was lucky enough, just before the shelter-in-place hit the campus, to sneak into Green Library and check out a whole bunch of books that I wouldn’t mind being cooped up at home with too much. Editor’s note: This article contains brief references to sexual violence that may be troubling to some readers. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |