What if the space into which a book is opened determines the story that it conjures? If this is true, then it means your place in the world shapes a book even as a book shapes you.
Last Sunday, I reread Don DeLillo’s Point Omega, in two sittings. I read the first half outside, the morning sun gaining strength as it climbed the back of my neck and head, tendrils of steam from my coffee wisping away in my peripheral vision. I got…
