In the book’s prologue, you write, “In story we learn to live like human beings in the dark houses of our bodies.” I love that line—it’s the kind of sentence I’m tempted to write down, tear from my notebook, and pin on the wall. Can you say a bit about the power of story in your life?
My grandfather was a wonderful teller of tales. After Sunday dinner we’d all sit in the front room and read and talk until late. And no matter the topic at hand, my grandfather had a story for it, a story that deepened or turned or somehow complicated the conversation. There were seldom any morals, seldom any clear arguments or ideas. Yet the stories mattered; they were full of things to think on, to wonder at and hold close. And I did. I carried and still carry my grandfather’s stories.