I read in a perfectly normal, conventional place-- curled up on a sofa in our living room, beneath a light, with my little gray cat Cherie purring & sleeping beside me, if I'm lucky. My husband, Charlie Gross, is usually sitting in a chair to my left, reading The Nation, the New York Review of Books, or the New Yorker. I am usually reading fiction, and often to review; the coffee table is filled with books, galleys, and magazines.
The last book I've read in this place was a biography of Woodrow Wilson; now I am reading Anne Tyler's new novel in galleys.
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