Generally, I don’t care about the new year. The clock ticking from December 31st to January 1st doesn’t mean much, other than time moving as it always does, bringing all that’s come before to all that comes ahead. But 2020 might be different. It’s been a truly terrible year, one I’m ready to let go. Reading, therefore, has not only been a comfort, but a necessary escape, particularly in months of isolation, when bad news of the world (Trump, pandemic, Trump, pandemic, Trump) only seems to get worse.