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I've been a little grumpy here lately, so I'd like to offer this up as a gift. It's impossible to overstate how beautiful I found Claire Keegan's story, "Foster," in last week's New Yorker. The language, the Irish-inflected dialog, the narrative, the reserved emotions of the characters who, to a one, are in pain--all of it.

Just impeccably written, and impossibly lovely. Thank you, Claire Keegan, and thank you New Yorker.