Today is Valentine’s Day, something I’ve never been terribly into, but I’ve always enjoyed making the cards for it and other occasions. In fact, when I read My Life in France by Julia Child and her grand-nephew Alex Prud’Homme, I was so very excited to learn that Julia made valentines in lieu of holiday cards. This year, however, I didn’t plan well and, as a result, didn’t make any cards, even though I had come up with what I thought was a fantastic idea back in October. Oh well. BUT (and I don’t care that you shouldn’t start sentences with BUT) had I made the cards, I would have tried to draw, then would have ultimately given up trying to draw, then would have tried to find a detailed old-fashioned-y looking illustration of the human heart. I then would have printed it up on cream-colored paper, trimmed it down to size, then affixed it to sturdier blood-red paper. I had it, along with many other things, all planned out in my head. Imagine, then, my expression when I saw the cover of My Mistress’s Sparrow Is Dead, a collection of short stories edited by Jeffrey Eugenides. The art is very close to the valentine I had mentally mapped out, so guess what book has just jumped out of the ether, as they say, directly to the top of my reading list? After I finish the two I’m reading simultaneously, of course.