I’ve reached a point in life where I need my glasses in order to find my glasses, which I never seem to leave in the same place twice. During the morning hunt for them, my unaided eyes pass over a haze of colors and oblongs that were once the legible spines on my bookshelves—a miscellaneous blur that seems somehow akin to the summer-reading recommendations I herewith offer. This small swirl of genres and sensibilities, five...
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