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This is story. And story is medicine. And sometimes medicine tastes awful. It might even make us feel worse before it makes us better. I came out of that story refined as if by fire. Scorched. Burned even. But still alive ...

But my plan to ponder the question of sexes and reading soon crystallized, like frost on glass, wending its way upward and outward in shimmering threads and metamorphosing into something unexpectedly personal: a reflection on the women writers who helped raise me ...

Where is our vigorous tenacity of love? The roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-angry love? I call this muscular love. It's the love that refuses to judge on the basis of difference … . Love doesn't turn away when it is afraid. Love runs towards in spite of personal risk ...

Though we may have secure professions and sit well-fed; though we may live thousands of kilometres from war and other violent clashes, we are not exempt from grief, from a gnawing sense of loss. How do we cope in such difficult times? ...