For Christmas, I gave my granddaughter a compilation of Eudora Welty’s novels. She’s an avid reader and tore into the book as soon as she unwrapped it. The short stories, however, were not included. Yesterday, we drove to a large national bookstore chain ( aka quasi toy store and puzzle shop) to purchase one of Miss Welty’s finest Why I Live at the P.O. After a thorough search of the shelves, I couldn’t find any of Miss Welty’s works so I approached the young woman standing behind the customer service desk.
“May I help you?” she asked me. She was mid-twenties, long straight hair, Buddy Holly glasses, and a serious expression.
“Where are Eudora Welty’s books?” I inquired.
“Who?”
Eudora Welty,” I repeated.
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