Next on My Reading List: The English Patient

Had this conversation at a party today:

"By the way, Michael," John said. "Annie Dillard called you the other day."

"Oh, right," Michael said. "I've been meaning to give her a call back."

"Yeah, she's doing pretty well," John said. Etc, etc.

"Wait, um, did you say Annie Dillard?" I said.

"Yep," Michael said patiently.

"Annie Dillard?" I said, getting visibly excited. "The writer Annie Dillard?"

"Yes," John said matter-of-factly, as if he were used to dropping names at parties to impress other guests, and then having to calm them down afterwards.

"Okay, just making sure I heard right," I said.

Later I was talking to John again:

"So you've read Annie Dillard," he said.

"We read some of her essays for a writing class I took," I said.

"Michael's a writer, too," John said.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "What kind of writing does he do?"

"Well," John said, "He wrote a book called The English Patient."

"That was Michael Ondaatje??" I said.

"You've read the book?" John said.

"Well, no," I said. "I've seen the movie."