I often wonder which books my maternal grandmother, Olga Woronoff (pictured above in 1976), read both as a teenager and a young woman. I know she loved books and reading; I have written about her attempts to devour books from a young age here. But which books did she enjoy?
From the moment I could read and throughout most of my younger years I was a bookworm. I read all day and at night I would hide under the covers and read by torchlight. Books accompanied me everywhere – they sat next to my cereal at breakfast and I would
In another century what will historians, anthropologists and researchers make of the wealth of material we are producing today? Will they speculate at the news stories and marvel at the immaculate Instagram images? Will our emails and text messages stand the test of time? What will social media say about
Is writing in the blood? Are writers born and not made? Can the desire, if not the talent, for writing be inherited? I write, my parents wrote – my mother authored a couple of non-fiction books – and my maternal grandmother was a published author of a memoir, Upheaval. I
Yesterday I saw “Mary Poppins Returns” with a friend of mine. It was a welcome break from writing about my father and the traumas he and his family went through. I had just finished the chapter where his brother is killed in action during WWII and was beginning the one