Yesterday I had outpatient surgery (I’m fine now) and my surgeon told me to take the weekend off and rest.

And so I did something I don’t let myself do often enough. I read for hours, allowing myself to get lost in a novel.

What a novel it is. Yes, I’m late to the The Correspondent wagon, and if you are too, get thee to a bookstore or library for a copy. It’s splendid. Is there anything better than an epistolary novel when it’s done well? No, no there is not.

Have you read it?