Recently, I found myself digging my small car out of a mammoth-sized, iced-over snowbank in order to slip and slide all the way into a nearby city. Why? What could have driven me out on a freezing, snow-piled, ice-covered evening? (Other than the fact that I live in Canada and if I didn't venture out on freezing, snow-piled, ice-covered days I'd probably get nowhere for about 1/3 of the year?)

Mary Novik had arrived in aforementioned nearby city to read from her 2007 novel Conceit (my thoughts on same can be found here) and I knew I just had to be there. And it was worth the effort. Articulate and generous, though tired, she told us about her inspiration for the opening of the novel (a dream) and talked a bit about her approach to this particular work of historical fiction. She'd tried not to let the historical record fetter her imagination. I think this method works for her, certainly, though it's a different approach than the recently read Landis.

I'm re-reading Conceit (now signed by the very kind author) and enjoying it even more this time than the last. My initial hesitation over the narrative having to do, mostly, with the depiction of John Donne, I've decided another look (without the expectation that I will read a pseudo-bio of the Donne of my imagination) will most likely increase my appreciation.