I just devoured Gail Caldwell's "Let's Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship." In fact, I almost swallowed it whole...and it has left me exactly the way I like to be left by a depthy book on an almost autumn evening (reflective, sentient, and a little weepy), with that good kind of cry that makes you feel clean and sad and peaceful all the way through.
There's a mood that comes with this kind of reading material, one that makes me feel young because I used to cultivate it. Well, that's not exactly right. First the feeling would come upon me, and then I would cultivate it. Because it was seductive, in its way...a purple melancholy, washed in a burnished sort of joy that didn't quite fit but made me want to wear it anyway.
I can write almost anything when this mood comes along. And Gail Caldwell's memoir of friendship has delivered it.
I won't give you any more on this one; the title says it all. Just know that if you dive into Ms. Caldwell's book, you will be the richer for it. And, just maybe, your friendships will be, too.