I can’t imagine breaking up with you. Instead, I think about the neighbors’ problems: His anguished look seems punishment for truth; his “other half” is thin and Puerto Rican.
I began reading Carol Shields’ books many years ago, with The Box Garden. In that novel there’s a passage that made me laugh so hard I thought I would do myself an injury. It’s the chapter describing a mother with scant taste but a lot of...
