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Tuesday, November 15, 2005

I had to read "Swimming at Suppertime" by Carol Wasserman twice, and though I've never been to Buzzards Bay, Mass. (I've never even been to New England), I feel I have known both the locale and the author for many years, perhaps for all of my life. From the delights of cranberry bogs, and quahogs, and the sadnesses of middle age and widowhood ("Men in Geese" was my favorite) each of these is not a short story or an essay, but a haiku or a little tone poem -- short, sweet, evocative, one that really makes readers feel what it is like to be Carol Wasserman living in "a raggedy little town" across the water from upscale Cape Cod.


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