MY WORK STUDY JOB in college was at the Columbia Rare Book and Manuscript Library — a sweatier, dirtier job than one might imagine, with boxes and shelves heavier than their literary contents might suggest. There were the still-embargoed manuscript of Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain; pieces of wood from the boat in which Baron Corvo died; rooms and shelves of cuneiform tablets; boxes of parasols that belonged to dead Romanovs; immense scrapbooks of newspapers from the American Civil War; magical notebooks of Lafcadio Hearn; and books for miles. It was, like most times I have looked back on in my life, a moment when I was happier than I knew in its midst: massive slices of pizza on Broadway for $2.00 at lunch, reliable air conditioning, speedy payment for work, congenial and bookish colleagues, a circle of friends with whom to share it, an embarrassment of rich choices about how to spend one’s time.
Quick Notes on ???AFTERLIFE ??? Ghost Stories From Goa???
The Fonsecas are your friendly neighbourhood Goan family. There’s Savio with his salt and pepper hair, and a propensity for eating chicken cafreal with…