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Warming his hands in the bone-picking room

Reading Marie Mutsuki Mockett’s “Letter from a Japanese Crematorium,” written after a visit to Japan for her grandmother’s funeral, feels like eavesdropping on the deepest and most spellbinding of secrets. My cousin Takahagi, a Buddhist priest, does not want me to go to the crematorium. It is not a place for visitors. When I press him, he explains: the crematorium . . .

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McCarthy this week

Cormac McCarthy links: Will Ridley Scott really direct Blood Meridian? The Road moves Whitehead to tears cry a single tear at Dallas BBQ, and inspires 20 readings, and a scholar’s (casual) speculations.

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