The Names of Things

It was a book that drew me to itself, quietly, lovingly. Morrow tells of her travels in the sands of Egypt, the land which called her over and over. She fell in love with this land and its people. And with its words. A lover and collector of words, Morrow holds them up as prisms for us, so the meanings fan out beautifully in a spray of color. In this light we see perhaps how the ghosts of childhood can find release in the desert’s ancient spaces. There is beauty in every detail of experience, rescued from oblivion by this woman’s careful pen. [Riverhead Books]

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