In the last month or so, I finally read Percival Everett’s James (just as great as everyone says—couldn’t stop reading it, wept over the ending, etc.), Miranda July’s All Fours (deliberately unnerving and squirmy, defiant, earnest, and very intriguing in its take on what it means to make a home, emotionally and physically), and Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These (devastating, in that Claire Keegan way). But Mohsin Hamid’s Exit West turned out to be what I wanted to write to you about. A lot of people are writing brilliantly about these brand-new books, so it feels like they’re covered. And although Exit West is the oldest of these books, it felt like the one most immediately in conversation with the news I also can’t stop reading. Also, Ron’s teaching it. So I also reread it, and we’re talking a lot about this novel that feels honest about the daily costs of war, the fear and boredom and dislocation of life as a refugee, but that’s essentially hopeful and a pleasure to read. The worst can sometimes happen. But there are other fates besides the very worst, for many people, and there’s something to be learned from inhabiting an experience that’s full of loss but not only loss.