One rainy afternoon, a very long time ago, I found myself alone in the reading room of a country club in Kenya.
I'm pretty sure that, aside from the cleaning staff, I was the only one to look through the collection of books there that day. It is likely that nobody else had looked at them in years.
For some reason, I picked up a copy of The Bedside Esquire, a collection of essays and short stories from the 1930s and sat down with it.
And fell in love with it.
Many years later, I presented our school's Superhero Librarian with a challenge; I only remembered one of the stories by name - Hemmingway's "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" - could she find out the name of the anthology it was in, so I could read those stories again?
She did.
This is the best of them:
I'm pretty sure that, aside from the cleaning staff, I was the only one to look through the collection of books there that day. It is likely that nobody else had looked at them in years.
For some reason, I picked up a copy of The Bedside Esquire, a collection of essays and short stories from the 1930s and sat down with it.
And fell in love with it.
Many years later, I presented our school's Superhero Librarian with a challenge; I only remembered one of the stories by name - Hemmingway's "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" - could she find out the name of the anthology it was in, so I could read those stories again?
She did.
This is the best of them:
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