I am reading one of those books.

Bonus points for scenes that take place in real-life places where I’ve been.

The book takes place in the eighteen fifties. And the characters describe a particular district in a particular town as being heaven on earth–the most wonderful place in the world.

I had to take a break.

Of course, I knew the history. I knew what happened, and I’ve been there. I know what it looks like, now. It’s not paradise.

But there’s something about a novel, isn’t there?