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The book tour is a success so far, at least to me. Lots of media and great reviews. But not that critical one, that sink-or-swim one. The assignment editor thought it would be a great matchup, but the reviewer clearly hated the politics of my Haiti novel. I was hoping to take a break, escape the heat, get up-country. The studio is a few doors down from my Avenue C apartment, but it feels like a getawayβsort of. I feel the need for stripped-down summer living and an escape from my usual routines.
Like a stoic: a bed, a few books, a few cassette tapes. And I didβI do, partly because I live on the top floor at the very end of the street, well above the fray. Next to it is an abandoned, gutted synagogue that makes me wonder who used to live on this street. The heat is the biggest problem. I only have two small fans. She, like me, favors words like malodorous. What else? I want to follow what the Europeans are saying about the exploding Balkan crisis and the siege of Sarajevo, and the role of Western powers in helping to broker peace.
I learn so much. Outside the window, in back, is an open airshaft connected to the studio, and this morning I saw a large rat crawling around. Is there a more appropriate fear?
A rat crawling up to sniff my toes. What to do then? If I leave the back door open to let in some breeze, then the rat might get in. I hardly feel stoic about that. I finally got away. Some cooler air, for starters. And a mix of emotions: relief, anxiety, and sadness too.
