Around 4am this morning, after waking up for some reason, I grabbed one of the New Yorkers I had neglected of late and started flipping through. Since I almost always like the Personal Histories in the magazine, I paused there and was thrilled to see a
story by one of my favorite writers,
Ryszard Kapuscinski. I read it greedily and found out more
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I love his stories from Africa, though. A review of one such book in the Economist pointed out some inconsistencies in his analysis and facts (research on international affairs and history was probably a bit more difficult at that time, I imagine). But even that nitpicker found the literature of it "magnificent" and said "Mr Kapuscinski tells it as it felt, rather than as it was, describing-sometimes, it seems, distastefully relishing-whatever is bizarre, humiliating, disgusting, exotic." What more do you need to be transported and know what it's like to live another's life? :)
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Hope you have a wonderful week!
Anita
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