Vroman's Fiction Reading Group

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Reading alone is fine until you finish something enormous and realise there is nobody in your life you can say the last page to. That is the hole this fills, on the fourth Wednesday of every month, upstairs, for an hour, for free. No application, no reading list you have to have kept up with, no requirement beyond having read the book or being willing to sit there while people who did talk about it. October's is Lincoln in the Bardo, which is George Saunders at his strangest - a graveyard, a grieving president, a hundred and sixty-six narrators interrupting each other - and it is precisely the kind of book that works better out loud with other people than it does alone in a chair. The group skews across four decades of age, which is unusual and is the best thing about it; the retired teacher and the twenty-four-year-old disagree about the same paragraph and both turn out to be right. It is one hour. It meets whether or not you came last month. Second floor of the oldest bookstore in Southern California, every fourth Wednesday, indefinitely.