Beyond the memories it drudged up for me, of men whose names I don't even remember (although the heartbreak we shared, nurtured, I'll never forget,) Alice Furse's prose--grown no doubt out of her own love of language: "...when even the language of American diners was so delicious. Eggs over easy. Sunny side up. Links. Grits. They really knew a thing or two about breakfast."--is gorgeous.
But, what I love most about this story is experiencing California's culture through a foreigner's eyes, a foreigner with sharp insight and attention to the details we tend to overlook in our everyday.
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| Alice Furse |
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