
In the long summer vacation of 1971, I "worked" on a construction site in the English countryside where they were proposing to build a new hangar for the U.S. Air Force, and used the proceeds to take a holiday in Greece with my friend Charles. Originally, the idea had been to hitchhike, having crossed the channel on the boat and made our way from Calais to Paris by bus. We soon found out what I had been warned of, that the French can't abide hitchhikers. After sleeping in the Bois de Boulogne we fluked a short ride to a small town by the name of Auxerre, and there our luck [...]

In preparation for Memorial Day on Monday-the unofficial beginning of Summer 2010-we asked writers to reflect on the season. We'll be publishing Here Comes Summer all week.
When Henry James first met Oscar Wilde in Boston in 1882, he told Wilde that he was very nostalgic for London.
"Really? You care for places? The world is my home," Wilde replied flamboyantly (and, erroneously, alas, though it was true for just a little while.) Did that ever make Henry James mad! He really ought to have known better, because Wilde was an incorrigible tease. James was all wanting to be We Sophisticates with Wilde, I guess, but Wilde wouldn't, because [...]