Exactly who heeded the call of Abraham? Book touring makes a writer wonder.
I am in Chicago, at the Hopleaf Bar on North Clark Street, one of the last stops on the U.S. portion of my book tour. What happens as I am on my way out of the bar has happened before.
“Excuse me,” a young woman calls. In other cities, it is a young man, or an old man, or an old woman.
“Yes?” I answer.
“I was at your reading.”
For a moment I flatter myself and assume she wants a book signed.
“And I have to say,” she continues.
This is the first bad sign. People who say things they “have” to say usually say those things with their hands pressed firmly over their ears.