Last night, in that window of time after I completed my walk home from work but before my Reader got there to accompany my knitting by companionably narrating a book about floating the entire length of the Columbia River in a canoe; after I had satisfied the demands of furry creatures but before we had our simple supper of squash soup, I did something I have been wanting to do for a very long time. I finished reading the book The Bridge of San Luis Rey, authored by Thornton Wilder in 1927 and recipient of a Pulitzer Prize.

It’s very short as far as books go, very simple in plot but rich in substance. I had started reading it three or four years ago but became distracted by other events and put it aside. It’s one of those books that you must read slowly so that you may enjoy its quality; you cannot consume it like a common thriller. It does you no good to try to get to the end without understanding the middle. You must savor the syllables as they sink into your consciousness; you must be one with the author so that you may grasp the grammar. If you do this, you realize with growing delight that these characters have remarkable meaning and that the book as a whole has a point that, once made, compels you to agree and be comforted by it… even if it is set in Peru in the early 18th century.

Thank you, Thornton.