Jane Kramer, root vegetables,

I was reading and absorbing her piquant posts from Europe before my brain realized that this was “Jane Kramer.” Prose like a great pickle. She’s a small person who takes on large topics, so I photographed her in a corner of the immense classroom that we call The Chapel of Clark Hall. There I could imagine her writing, “When the writer was a girl, lost in poetry, the only root on her mind was the mandrake root in John Donne. Roots were scary, the cautionary stuff of fairy tales and folklore. Childhood habits of mind can be hard to break.” Read more.

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