Sem Espelhos, Sapatos Compartilhados

No Mirrors, Shared Shoes My father was born in County Donegal in 1925. He would have turned one hundred on May 30 of last year. As I think about my father, who passed away at the age of eighty-eight, I marvel at the distant world of Ireland a century ago. It’s fascinating how quickly history starts to move—especially in remote areas like County Donegal—after inching along at glacial speed for hundreds of years. Here I am, a writer who has lived to see the advent of Star Trek–type smartphones,...