I would feel a special connection to Jeanette Winterson's recent memoir of adoption if only because of its eulogy for a time of communal experience («the loss of vivid life on the streets; the gossip, the encounters, the heaving messy noisy day that made room for everyone,
money or not»), non-global culture («when the first supermarket opened in Accrington nobody went because the prices might be low — but they were set»), and the idea that reading is right for anyone
interested in grace and self - betterment rather than an
elitist privilege.