Once upon a time I knew a young man who was semi-literate. He read books by Alexander Solzhenisten, John Fowles, Norman Mailer and James Baldwin among others. He loved the Marx Brothers and read about George S Kauffman, Alexander Woolcott and the rest of the members of the Algonquin Wits, including Dorothy Parker. But through the years as that young man aged, he found escape from the drudgery of work not in great literature, but in mysteries and thrillers, not that they aren’t good reads, but hey, saving the world from serial killers and nuclear annihilation isn’t the same as questioning the meaning of life! Read More