![]() ![]() Had I been in the very rooms where the author conceived these pages I was now tasked with evaluating? It was as if I had been transported into one of Egan’s novels my humble apartment search now part of a grand plot testifying to the interconnected fabric of human existence. I hadn’t given it much thought until recently, when I was assigned to review The Candy House, her new novel. Based on various descriptors, I was sure it had to be Jennifer Egan, who had just been teaching at a nearby college. I told him I was a journalist, and he said another writer used to rent this place. I looked into her shower, checked the knobs on her stove, walked the path from the front door to the garage where the washer and dryer were kept. ![]() A few years ago, I found myself in a stranger’s home when she was not there. ![]()
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