Piggy Bank

"Imagine you're at yet another prestigious literary event with the stench of careerism in the air, and the only mercy is a window you're sitting beside. As you look out, an unhurried stranger steps into frame, his lips moving-perhaps he's praying, or singing to himself. His kind, discerning eyes notice a cicada upside-down in the dirt, buzzing like a wrecked toy racecar. He bends down and gently rights it with a twig and a fallen leaf. Witnessing such is what it's like to read Jacob Rubin's...