Feb 4, 2009


The recent pictures of London under snow have made me hopelessly and horribly homesick I'm not sure why. It never snows in London. I certainly don't have any memories of snow when I lived there. And it snows all the time in New York. Maybe I'm just more facile than I thought and responded, Pavlovian fashion, to the picture-book images. Actually, I know what it is. Its not the fact that it's common. Its the fact that its uncommon and I'm missing out. I remember what it was like when Thatcher resigned and when Diana died and I imagine the snowfall to have a similar effect — a sort of big civic hug. Maybe people are bonding. Maybe they are performing small and unexpected acts of kindness. Maybe they are feeling young and foolish and giggling when they look out the window. Or then again, maybe they are shovelling grey slush out of their driveways so they don't slip and fracture a toe. Either way, I'm jealous; they're doing it all together.


  1. Hi Tom,

    I discovered your writing this afternoon through reading your review on Ian McEwan's "Atonement" published in New York Times years ago. What a great piece of work -- yours. Yours beat every other review on "Atonement" I've read so far.

    Glad to know you also host this blog. Really enjoyed your writing so far, especially this little piece on London. Ha, I used to live in New York and now I returned to Shanghai. The emotions you described about missing snow in London remind me of those I constantly have for New York these days. I hope you enjoy living in NYC.

    Looking forward to reading your novel and blog! All the best of luck! Keep on writing!


  2. Thanks Lin. Am very proud to have a reader in Shanghai.