Don’t want to load you down with NYT links today, but I thought this essay in Sunday’s book review was necessary. Laura Miller writes on the dearth of serious fiction about what we do for a living, i.e., work. (Although, I must say, she takes the long way around getting there.) This is something I’ve noticed for a while — how often main characters are either married to money or inherited money or do something so vague for their money that we don’t even know what it is. And, face it, for most of us, work blots out the sun. You’d think, in this ambitious age, there’d be more of it in our fiction.
There is a
Today in nn.c history.
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