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The Road to Emmaus: Poems
A moving, subtle sequence of narrative poems, from a sharp new poetic voice
Two strangers walk toward Emmaus. Christ has just been crucified, and they are heartbroken—until a third man joins them on the road and comforts them. Once they reach Emmaus and break bread, the pair realizes they have been walking with Christ himself. But in the moment they recognize him, he disappears. Spencer Reece draws on this tender story in his mesmerizing collection—one that fearlessly confronts love and its loss, despair and its consolation, and faith in all of its various guises.
Reece’s central figure in The Road to Emmaus is a middle-aged man who becomes a priest in the Episcopal Church; these poems follow him to New York City, to Honduras, to a hospital where he works as a chaplain, to a prison, to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. With language of simple, lyrical beauty that gradually accrues weight and momentum, Reece spins compelling dramas out of small moments: the speaker, living among a group of orphans, wondering "Was it true, what they said, that a priest is a house lit up?"; two men finding each other at a Coming Out Group; a man trying to become visible after a life that had depended on not being seen.
A yearning for connection, an ache of loneliness, and the instant of love disappearing before our eyes haunt this long-awaited second collection from Spencer Reece.
Two strangers walk toward Emmaus. Christ has just been crucified, and they are heartbroken—until a third man joins them on the road and comforts them. Once they reach Emmaus and break bread, the pair realizes they have been walking with Christ himself. But in the moment they recognize him, he disappears. Spencer Reece draws on this tender story in his mesmerizing collection—one that fearlessly confronts love and its loss, despair and its consolation, and faith in all of its various guises.
Reece’s central figure in The Road to Emmaus is a middle-aged man who becomes a priest in the Episcopal Church; these poems follow him to New York City, to Honduras, to a hospital where he works as a chaplain, to a prison, to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. With language of simple, lyrical beauty that gradually accrues weight and momentum, Reece spins compelling dramas out of small moments: the speaker, living among a group of orphans, wondering "Was it true, what they said, that a priest is a house lit up?"; two men finding each other at a Coming Out Group; a man trying to become visible after a life that had depended on not being seen.
A yearning for connection, an ache of loneliness, and the instant of love disappearing before our eyes haunt this long-awaited second collection from Spencer Reece.
144 pages, Hardcover
First published April 1, 2014
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Displaying 1 - 27 of 27 reviews
April 16, 2024
When the dead outnumber the living
you remember the living gently, gently... -- "The Upper Room" by Spencer Reese
I really enjoyed this collection, which is basically autobiographical in nature. Some of the poems really long and prose-like, though there is compression of thought and image and pacing that definitely left me feeling like I was reading poetry of a pretty high order. The arc of the collection is that of a spiritual autobiography. It's never preachy, mostly empathetic, and always moving. The title poem, "The Road to Emmaus," is quite good. It's one of the collections "long ones," but it casts a spell as the author recounts his conversations over two years with a Franciscan nun (Sister Ann). As he tells his story, lost but seeking soul that he is, he takes note of the cheesy Catholic postcar hanging on the wall behind Sister Ann. It's a picture of from the Gospel of Luke about the two disciples who encounter a stranger on the way to Emmaus. The stranger is the risen Christ. Throughout the long poem you realize the stranger in the poem is, well, all of us willing to listen, to empathize, to care. Christ is unseen, but always there, especially when we gather together in his name.
That said, my favorite poem in the collection is the penultimate "The Upper Room." It's another long one, but one that pulls all the previous threads of Reece's life together for his transition through ordination as an Episcopal priest. The voice is consistent throughout. A bit wounded due to time's arrows, but also wise and loving.
you remember the living gently, gently... -- "The Upper Room" by Spencer Reese
I really enjoyed this collection, which is basically autobiographical in nature. Some of the poems really long and prose-like, though there is compression of thought and image and pacing that definitely left me feeling like I was reading poetry of a pretty high order. The arc of the collection is that of a spiritual autobiography. It's never preachy, mostly empathetic, and always moving. The title poem, "The Road to Emmaus," is quite good. It's one of the collections "long ones," but it casts a spell as the author recounts his conversations over two years with a Franciscan nun (Sister Ann). As he tells his story, lost but seeking soul that he is, he takes note of the cheesy Catholic postcar hanging on the wall behind Sister Ann. It's a picture of from the Gospel of Luke about the two disciples who encounter a stranger on the way to Emmaus. The stranger is the risen Christ. Throughout the long poem you realize the stranger in the poem is, well, all of us willing to listen, to empathize, to care. Christ is unseen, but always there, especially when we gather together in his name.
That said, my favorite poem in the collection is the penultimate "The Upper Room." It's another long one, but one that pulls all the previous threads of Reece's life together for his transition through ordination as an Episcopal priest. The voice is consistent throughout. A bit wounded due to time's arrows, but also wise and loving.
June 9, 2016
A Spiritual Autobiography
Reece has been moving between writing and religion for most of his adult life. As a student at Wesleyan, he was encouraged by Annie Dillard and later by James Merrill, whose confessional poetry is an obvious influence on his own work. He then took degrees in Theology from Harvard and Yale. But for most of the middle years of his life, he worked as a clerk for the Brooks Brothers outlet at the Mall of America, an experience which provided the material for his first prizewinning collection, The Clerk's Tale. Then later in life, he returned to the church, and was ordained as a priest (I think Anglo-Catholic) in 2011, at the age of 48. For most of the next year, he worked with orphan girls in Honduras. So much for the facts, but the poems look deep behind them, into the writer's soul.
I call this a collection of poems—there are 18 in all—but in fact, they are very varied in texture. Four of them are in prose, dealing with subjects such as life as a child at Oak Ridge, an elderly Holocaust survivor, work as a prison chaplain, and (the longest) a visit to the family cemetery in Hartford. Six of them are short and even lyrical, often loosely rhymed, about such subjects as love and family, but also about the suffering of ICU patients or abandoned children in a Miami shelter. This one ends with the memorable line, "Was it true, what they said, that a priest is a house lit up?" But what gives the book its gravitas and makes it seem more like a spiritual autobiography than a random collection, are the eight longer narrative poems, in mostly free verse.
I do not claim to understand all of these, but two in particular shine with painful but radiant authenticity. One, "Gilgamesh," told in numerous short fragments, is the story of a great love, a five-year relationship that eventually came to an end. The other is the title poem, "The Road to Emmaus." Bible readers will know that this refers to a couple of disciples walking to a village outside Jerusalem after the Crucifixion, joined by a stranger who engages them in conversation; only at the very end do they recognize that the stranger was the risen Christ. In Reece's poem, the "stranger" is a beat-up but still dapper elderly man called Durrell, who becomes his sponsor at AA meetings. The poem is his meditation on Durrell's memory:
The Gospel of John was right:These are the closing lines of "Hymn," the final poem in Spencer Reece's spare and moving collection. They really say everything that the book is about: the "so much life" that Reece crams into his pages, his unique confessional voice that manages to say freshly what many others have written about before, his identity as an older gay man, the quality of renunciation that throbs through many of these poems, his deep spirituality—and above all, his ability to "write it down, just as it happened."
the world holds so much life.
There are not enough books to record it all.
I kissed the young man on his cheek, very lightly.
— Jesus said to them: "Unbind him, and let him go."
We each went our separate ways
following where we were being led.
Marie said: "Write it down, just as it happened."
Reece has been moving between writing and religion for most of his adult life. As a student at Wesleyan, he was encouraged by Annie Dillard and later by James Merrill, whose confessional poetry is an obvious influence on his own work. He then took degrees in Theology from Harvard and Yale. But for most of the middle years of his life, he worked as a clerk for the Brooks Brothers outlet at the Mall of America, an experience which provided the material for his first prizewinning collection, The Clerk's Tale. Then later in life, he returned to the church, and was ordained as a priest (I think Anglo-Catholic) in 2011, at the age of 48. For most of the next year, he worked with orphan girls in Honduras. So much for the facts, but the poems look deep behind them, into the writer's soul.
I call this a collection of poems—there are 18 in all—but in fact, they are very varied in texture. Four of them are in prose, dealing with subjects such as life as a child at Oak Ridge, an elderly Holocaust survivor, work as a prison chaplain, and (the longest) a visit to the family cemetery in Hartford. Six of them are short and even lyrical, often loosely rhymed, about such subjects as love and family, but also about the suffering of ICU patients or abandoned children in a Miami shelter. This one ends with the memorable line, "Was it true, what they said, that a priest is a house lit up?" But what gives the book its gravitas and makes it seem more like a spiritual autobiography than a random collection, are the eight longer narrative poems, in mostly free verse.
I do not claim to understand all of these, but two in particular shine with painful but radiant authenticity. One, "Gilgamesh," told in numerous short fragments, is the story of a great love, a five-year relationship that eventually came to an end. The other is the title poem, "The Road to Emmaus." Bible readers will know that this refers to a couple of disciples walking to a village outside Jerusalem after the Crucifixion, joined by a stranger who engages them in conversation; only at the very end do they recognize that the stranger was the risen Christ. In Reece's poem, the "stranger" is a beat-up but still dapper elderly man called Durrell, who becomes his sponsor at AA meetings. The poem is his meditation on Durrell's memory:
John K., from the meetings, dead now too, once said:
"Oh, I knew Durrell. He was odd. But we're all odd, you know."
All I know now
is the more he loved me, the more I loved the world.
March 4, 2015
Though I could not ford my way through all of the prose-y long poems, there are a couple of perfect pieces in this book. Like this poem, the first in the collection and one that I have kept close at hand since I first read it:
ICU
Those mornings I traveled north on I-91,
passing below the basalt cliff of East Rock
where elms discussed their genealogies.
I was a chaplain at Hartford Hospital,
took the Meyers-Briggs with Sister Margaret,
learned I was an I drawn to Es.
In small group I said, "I do not like it
the way young black men die in the ER,
shot, unrecognized, their gurneys stripped,
their belongings catalogued and unclaimed."
In the neonatal ICU, newborns breathed,
blue, spider-delicate in nests of tubes.
A Sunday of themselves, their tissues purpled,
their eyelids the film on old water in a well,
their faces resigned in plastic attics,
skin mottled mildewed wallpaper.
It is correct to love even at the wrong time.
On rounds, the newborns eyed me, each one
like Orpheus in his dark hallway, saying:
I knew I would find you, I knew I would lose you.
ICU
Those mornings I traveled north on I-91,
passing below the basalt cliff of East Rock
where elms discussed their genealogies.
I was a chaplain at Hartford Hospital,
took the Meyers-Briggs with Sister Margaret,
learned I was an I drawn to Es.
In small group I said, "I do not like it
the way young black men die in the ER,
shot, unrecognized, their gurneys stripped,
their belongings catalogued and unclaimed."
In the neonatal ICU, newborns breathed,
blue, spider-delicate in nests of tubes.
A Sunday of themselves, their tissues purpled,
their eyelids the film on old water in a well,
their faces resigned in plastic attics,
skin mottled mildewed wallpaper.
It is correct to love even at the wrong time.
On rounds, the newborns eyed me, each one
like Orpheus in his dark hallway, saying:
I knew I would find you, I knew I would lose you.
Read
February 9, 2015I was constantly surprised by this book and Reece's poetry. There is a certain vagueness to 'Monaco' but a devastating honesty to 'Gilgamesh'. Reece is not a 'formalist' but he will use forms (and rhymes) loosely. Throughout the poetry, there are numerous citations and allusions to Scripture although perhaps befitting the author's priestly office, his Christianity is more pastoral than apologetic. A wonderful citation from Isak Dinesen opens this volume.
April 22, 2015
The cover features this short blurb by Annie Dillard: "These poems form a true and riveting narrative. Reading Spencer Reece makes you recall why you love poetry." This rings so very true to me. Very infrequently do I have the urge to start a book again as soon as I finish, but Reece's poetry inspires just that feeling. Most of the poems spoke to me on some level. I particularly like Gilgamesh Fragments. Heartbreaking and beautiful.
Read
July 12, 2019First read: July 12, 2019, Friday
October 18, 2025
BRAVO. Wow. I’ve never read a poet who could tell narratives like this in verse. Gripping, new, voice-ful. MFA faculty knew what they were doing when they suggested I critically engage with Reece this month.
December 1, 2015
At first, the tone seems rather light than heavy. Sotto voce, slightly singing, starts the journey from home to the hospital where is the chaplain. The poet-priest Spencer Reece does never bang the big drum, neither in his „The Clerk's Tale“ (published in 2004) nor in his recent book, „The Road To Emmaus“. A disciple on his way, a tema con variazioni, spread over 19 poems – and it is all somehow about the writer himself, his doubts, his faith, his journey towards ordained ministry, his coming-out and many other moments in his life. But although the author turns up in his lines as Spencer or Spencer Reece, he never gets too introspect or self-centered. He is more of a modern Orpheus, singing his song in search of humans once dear to him – Joseph, his lover, his parents and many other humans.
A sound, a singing sound: That is what clings to the ears whilst reading through „The Road To Emmaus“. Sometimes, the components of this volume rather seem to be narratives. But it is the keynote Reece sets which makes the texts poems. Each one is well composed, but rather freely. But they follow a pattern, they have got rhythm because they resonate the life of the author – not always the sense of naturalism or realism, but in a more sublime way, told in a softspoken and kind mode. The poet talks gently to his reader. Of all things surrounding him, Reece talks gracefully und with great taste, tnterspersed with pearls of wisdom. Passing along the newborn in Hartford „ICU“) where he used to be a hospital chaplain, the priest-poet meditates: „It is always correct to love even at the wrong time.“ The closing lines are of similar sublimity: „On rounds, the newborn eyed me, each one/like Orpheus in his dark hallway, saying/I know I would find you, I know I would lose you.“
Gems like this, gems, edged and engulfed by the rest of the text, these gems alone pay the purchase of this book. „The Manhattan Project“, one of the most narratively structured poems, ends by: „Speak Father, and I will listen. And if you do not wish to speak, I will listen to that.“ „Monaco“, one of the epoi in this collection, contains another jewel: „She was what she said she was./But we are rarely what we say we are.“ But reviewing a book is not about compiling its most beautiful passages, at least not only – it is about finding how the author organizes his material alongside the structures. Spencer Reece really travels on the Road to Emmaus, he travels towards the fulfillment of his faith in his ordination to the priesthood, towards his sexual identity and many other things.
It's a rich book, rich of experience, rich in the images carried by its ornate and candid, yet to the point language and always addressing the intellect as well as the senses. It deserves to be known far beyond the USA, because it contains fine poems, reflecting the first encounter of the disciples with the risen Christ in a very sublime, resonating that experience in a contemporary language and a contemporary life.
An introduction to Spencer Reece's most recent book is offered on his editors' website: us.macmillan.com/theroadtoemmaus/spen.... As far as his poetry as such is concerned, you cant either turn to the Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/spencer-...) or to the Griffin Prize (www.griffinpoetryprize.com/awards-and...) . A short video can be found on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPS73....
A sound, a singing sound: That is what clings to the ears whilst reading through „The Road To Emmaus“. Sometimes, the components of this volume rather seem to be narratives. But it is the keynote Reece sets which makes the texts poems. Each one is well composed, but rather freely. But they follow a pattern, they have got rhythm because they resonate the life of the author – not always the sense of naturalism or realism, but in a more sublime way, told in a softspoken and kind mode. The poet talks gently to his reader. Of all things surrounding him, Reece talks gracefully und with great taste, tnterspersed with pearls of wisdom. Passing along the newborn in Hartford „ICU“) where he used to be a hospital chaplain, the priest-poet meditates: „It is always correct to love even at the wrong time.“ The closing lines are of similar sublimity: „On rounds, the newborn eyed me, each one/like Orpheus in his dark hallway, saying/I know I would find you, I know I would lose you.“
Gems like this, gems, edged and engulfed by the rest of the text, these gems alone pay the purchase of this book. „The Manhattan Project“, one of the most narratively structured poems, ends by: „Speak Father, and I will listen. And if you do not wish to speak, I will listen to that.“ „Monaco“, one of the epoi in this collection, contains another jewel: „She was what she said she was./But we are rarely what we say we are.“ But reviewing a book is not about compiling its most beautiful passages, at least not only – it is about finding how the author organizes his material alongside the structures. Spencer Reece really travels on the Road to Emmaus, he travels towards the fulfillment of his faith in his ordination to the priesthood, towards his sexual identity and many other things.
It's a rich book, rich of experience, rich in the images carried by its ornate and candid, yet to the point language and always addressing the intellect as well as the senses. It deserves to be known far beyond the USA, because it contains fine poems, reflecting the first encounter of the disciples with the risen Christ in a very sublime, resonating that experience in a contemporary language and a contemporary life.
An introduction to Spencer Reece's most recent book is offered on his editors' website: us.macmillan.com/theroadtoemmaus/spen.... As far as his poetry as such is concerned, you cant either turn to the Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/spencer-...) or to the Griffin Prize (www.griffinpoetryprize.com/awards-and...) . A short video can be found on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPS73....
May 5, 2025
Poems and musings by a gay Episcopalian priest, many of which appear to be autobiographical.
August 30, 2015
I'm not so sure about these poems. Some nice lines, but I felt rather unmoved overall.
At Thomas Merton’s Grave
We can never be with loss too long.
Behind the warped door that sticks,
the wood thrush calls to the monks,
pausing atop the stone crucifix,
singing: “I am marvelous alone!”
Thrash, thrash goes the hayfield:
rows of marrow and bone undone.
The horizon’s flashing fastens tight,
sealing the blue hills with vermilion.
Moss dyes a squirrel’s skull green.
The cemetery expands its borders—
little milky crosses grow like teeth.
How kind time is, altering space
so nothing stays wrong: and light,
more new light, always arrives.
February 18, 2016
The Road to Emmaus was shortlisted for Canada's Griffin Poetry Prize last year. I'd already bought the book from the table in the lobby during the intermission at the readings. I regretted it when Reece read during the 2d half of the program. He read in a drone a poem that went on too long. Reading this volume, though, I was pleasantly surprised at the power of Reece's poetry, at the swing of his imagery and the crisp language. It's robust yet gentle. The book didn't win the prize, but it could've. And maybe it should've.
June 15, 2016
Wow... wow.
This second book by Spencer Reece reminded me why I liked his first collection so much.
It's quiet... it's sneaks up on you... and it is terribly needed right now... at this time.
He speaks so eloquently, almost achingly, to the prospect--and peculiar adventure through--being a gay man in the process of becoming a Catholic monk/priest. There is no simplicity to the situation. He glosses over nothing. He speaks of God in a way that even got me listening.
Recommend it...
Nathan
This second book by Spencer Reece reminded me why I liked his first collection so much.
It's quiet... it's sneaks up on you... and it is terribly needed right now... at this time.
He speaks so eloquently, almost achingly, to the prospect--and peculiar adventure through--being a gay man in the process of becoming a Catholic monk/priest. There is no simplicity to the situation. He glosses over nothing. He speaks of God in a way that even got me listening.
Recommend it...
Nathan
October 14, 2015
It's good poetry. It's not my favorite type of poetry but it's good. In fact, it is so good I kept reading even though I found the line a bit subdued and the sentence strained. But I think that's the point. That's why I kept going at it. Topically the poems bring up the complex relationships between lovers, mentors, friends and God all while believing subtly that they are all connected to our personal and communal journeys.
June 11, 2014
In my efforts to ad more poetry, I read this second collection by spencer Reece. I did not enjoy it nearly as much as his debut collection "The Clerks Tale," which I found had a shyer, more mischievous and whimsical humor about it, but this one does contain the same senses of wonder and gratitude at human relationships.
August 14, 2014
Poet and Episcopal priest Spencer Reece’s recent book, “The Road To Emmaus” is a warm and generous collection of narrative poems that explores life with humble insight and restrained brilliance. My full review: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/unfundam...
July 25, 2015
Nostalgic, lyrical, incredibly beautiful, spare--I loved it. These poems describe ordinary life in simple language, and in doing so achieve an incredible spiritual and emotional depth.
November 2, 2015
The Puritans said there was no fire to be found under the ice, but I find that to be wrong: where I have found ice I have found fire.
-Spencer Reece, "Hartford"
-Spencer Reece, "Hartford"
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April 22, 2025From Part XIII of "THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT"
Where does biography end?
Where does poetry start?
How to construct the architecture of the heart?
"Kindness, kindness matters," my mother said.
*
"AT THOMAS MERTON'S GRAVE"
We can never be with loss too long.
Behind the warped door that sticks,
the wood thrush calls to the monks,
pausing atop the stone crucifix
singing: "I am marvelous alone!"
Thrash, thrash goes the hayfield:
rows of marrow and bone undone.
The horizon's flashing fastens tight,
sealing the blue hills with vermilion.
Moss dyes a squirrel's skull green.
The cemetery expands it borders-
little milky crosses grow like teeth.
How kind time is, altering space
so nothing stays wrong: and light,
more new light, always arrives.
*
Favorite poem is "MARGARET"
*
From Part III of "THE ROAD TO EMMAUS"
I kept having trouble translating Durrell, so much I guessed.
How to know?
(Why hadn't I asked him more questions?
He wasn't the sort that invited questions, I do remember that.)
Another way of saying it was that when he was with me,
on the phone, then and only then did he seem to move in truth,
and in his truths, reprimanding and hard,
he was made more singular. Maybe that was it.
whatever the case, he listened, he listened to me.
I missed his listening.
Listening, Sister Ann said, is a memorable form of love.
Where does biography end?
Where does poetry start?
How to construct the architecture of the heart?
"Kindness, kindness matters," my mother said.
*
"AT THOMAS MERTON'S GRAVE"
We can never be with loss too long.
Behind the warped door that sticks,
the wood thrush calls to the monks,
pausing atop the stone crucifix
singing: "I am marvelous alone!"
Thrash, thrash goes the hayfield:
rows of marrow and bone undone.
The horizon's flashing fastens tight,
sealing the blue hills with vermilion.
Moss dyes a squirrel's skull green.
The cemetery expands it borders-
little milky crosses grow like teeth.
How kind time is, altering space
so nothing stays wrong: and light,
more new light, always arrives.
*
Favorite poem is "MARGARET"
*
From Part III of "THE ROAD TO EMMAUS"
I kept having trouble translating Durrell, so much I guessed.
How to know?
(Why hadn't I asked him more questions?
He wasn't the sort that invited questions, I do remember that.)
Another way of saying it was that when he was with me,
on the phone, then and only then did he seem to move in truth,
and in his truths, reprimanding and hard,
he was made more singular. Maybe that was it.
whatever the case, he listened, he listened to me.
I missed his listening.
Listening, Sister Ann said, is a memorable form of love.
Read
December 8, 2021i finished this at a bar in greenpoint called Goldie’s. i feel like i can see the author here in this glittery, 70s themed bar.
this collection of poems was both candid and yet elevated which i feel is inevitable, this being a work by a member of the clergy and all. i have friends i feel would resonate more with this work than I did but i still enjoyed it.
this collection of poems was both candid and yet elevated which i feel is inevitable, this being a work by a member of the clergy and all. i have friends i feel would resonate more with this work than I did but i still enjoyed it.
August 11, 2023
I picked this up at the library based on the title alone: I love the story of the road to Emmaus.
The only poems I actively liked here, though, were "At Thomas Merton's Grave" and the titular poem.
Perhaps narrative poetry is not my thing? Perhaps I need to give it another shot.
Perhaps, perhaps...
The only poems I actively liked here, though, were "At Thomas Merton's Grave" and the titular poem.
Perhaps narrative poetry is not my thing? Perhaps I need to give it another shot.
Perhaps, perhaps...
April 28, 2019
I loved these poems very much. What a good model for writing story, narrative, history in poetry.
June 4, 2023
pregnant mysteries. that's as much as i can say right now, i think.
October 22, 2018
I was moved by many of these poems.
March 30, 2018
I am not well versed in poetry. This is a powerful book of poems. Heartfelt and time stopping. I am looking forward to returning to it soon.
I got to share "Hymn" the last poem in the book with a group of women. You could have heard a pin drop. It was one that full of pain and hope at the same time.
I got to share "Hymn" the last poem in the book with a group of women. You could have heard a pin drop. It was one that full of pain and hope at the same time.
June 8, 2016
Structurally, these poems are sound. It was just a little too covert for my tastes. It's as though the author is alluding to himself but is not so certain. The details are so muddy they leave me with questions about things that really don't matter rather than with the knowledge of the subject matter. I really cannot recommend this- the 3 stars are for structure only.
October 5, 2014
3.75 stars. I really like Reece's style, and there was one section of one poem in particular that I really loved. A solid collection that would hold up well to repeat readings.
April 6, 2017
It's a wonderful thing when you read the exact right book at the exact right moment in your life.
Displaying 1 - 27 of 27 reviews