Finished Dandelion Wine yesterday, a perfect reliquary of summer, all golden childhood nostalgia bookended by the quiet grief that accompanies the passing of time. Bradbury’s balance of delight and heartbreak is precise. One moment I’m laughing at brothers Douglas and Tom rolling down a hill with mouthfuls of grass and another I’m crying about the city paving over the trolley’s tracks and replacing it with a bus system.

Next is Mrs. Dalloway, and I’m already hooked. Already so rife with Freudian texture. I’m going to have a field day with this one.