Just read Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth, a collection of her short stories. Some had already been published in the New Yorker. She's a beautiful writer, as always, although her characters remind me of Anita Brookner's: isolated and removed from life and the humans around them . Too much prolonged exposure to them makes you start to feel itchy and claustrophobic. Makes me long for E.M. Forster to march in and slap them on the side of the head and yell "Only connect!".
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