He had brought with him a dime novel, one of the Chums of Chance series, The Chums of Chance at the Ends of the Earth, and for a while each night he sat in the firelight and read to himself but soon found he was reading out loud to his father’s corpse, like a bedtime … Continue reading “…he enjoyed a sort of dual existence” (Another Riff on Thomas Pynchon’s Against the Day)