Three women of a certain age come to a certain beach during a certain summer week every year for sun and fun. What does “fun” mean to these women who went to college together and lived in and around New York City in the 1980s and then settled into their lives — which they escape during this week at this beach during this week?
What they’re reading, what they’ve read, books they loved from childhood (one six-hour car ride on a shared loved of fairy tales) and then some trolling through bookstores and sitting on the beach reading silently together and then retiring after wine and conversation (about books) to read ourselves to sleep. There are occasional breaks — memorably, to see Magic Mike, to get our hair cut and, once, to rent a pedal-power surrey with fringe on top.
Children have their Reading Rainbow. We have our Reading Rapture (why “rapture” is a story for another post) and I wouldn’t trade it for any other kind of rapture.
Can people trade in raptures?
Probably not but I wouldn’t, never ever.