- Discussion (11)
I met my aunt Melanie in the summer of 1974, an August of high bright days, so dry that my father had to oil our front lane to keep the dust down. I was ﬁfteen, midway through high school and deadened by its sameness. I could scarcely remember what had preceded it, or begin to imagine what might follow.
This article is for Granta online subscribers only.
To read this article you need to be a subscriber to Granta magazine. Login below if you have an account, or click here to subscribe.
You are not currently logged in.