A very productive year of reading is waining. Even if there wasn’t much else to do, I’m pleased. This morning I was reviewing the books I read during the last ten months and recognized two trends: First, my usual complaint that I haven’t read the Victorians or most American literature is no longer accurate. I’ve even read most of Henry James’s works which I have to admit was not much fun; and second, so many titles that have stood on my bookshelves or reading lists for so long—often many years—have finally been read. Imagine if you will in 2021 selecting a Signet edition from the back shelf to read and noting that the sticker price of the book was 60 cents! Then imagine that I lugged that book in an old orange crate from San Diego to Los Angeles to St. Louis to New Jersey to South Carolina and in order to read in in Florida I have to download a digital edition from a friendly vendor.