Who could possibly make describing the contents of her ottoman compelling reading? Who besides Abigail Thomas, anyway?
In Still Life at Eighty Abigail Thomas, my favorite memoirist, reflects on aging . . . memory; death and dying; her past, present, and future. Of writing she says, “what was once a pleasure is now hard work, and the results are discouraging. Does this happen to all of us?”
In not quite chapters, not quite diary entries, Thomas grapples with isolation not only born of decreasing mobility and motivation, but pandemic social distancing. When the last of her original dog pack