Volume 48, Number 16 · October 18, 2001
First Love
By Oliver Sacks
In January 1946, when I was twelve and a half, I moved from my prep school in Hampstead, The Hall, to a much larger school, St. Paul's, in Hammersmith. It was here, in the Walker Library, that I met Jonathan Miller for the first time. I was hidden in a corner, reading a nineteenth-century book on electrostatics—reading, for some reason, about 'electric eggs'—when a shadow fell across the page. I looked up and saw an astonishingly tall, gangling boy with a very mobile face, brilliant, impish eyes, and an exuberant mop of reddish hair. We got talking together, and have been close friends ever since.
Feature, 1596 words
To read the full text of this piece, please choose one of the following options:
|
If you are already a subscriber to the Review's electronic edition, please sign in: |
To subscribe to the electronic edition, please press the button below. |
To purchase access to this article for $3, please press the button below. |