Often, we make sense of our lives by making sense of other people’s lives. We strive to understand our mother or father or sister or spouse; sometimes a child; even a stranger, someone we never actually knew. Sometimes we turn to places—a city, a town, a country—home
. Sometimes we turn to things—substances, a hobby, a game. And sometimes we turn to books.
The first great book I ever read, and the only great book I’ve read as many as five or six times since, is Ulysses
. That said, I still don’t