Hall reading

What struck me about Donald Hall’s reading was its intimacy.

This master of letters, who does indeed, as Frank said, resemble a bard of yore, sat at a table, a yellow-shaded lamp at his elbow casting a warm light on the papers and book before him. I felt as if I were sitting across from him in his study. Though the reading was in an auditorium, so many people I’ve spoken with had the same feeling, that they were in a small room alone with him.