My latest novel is Oran Pamuk’s Snow and it has finally happened. I picked up the paperback in bed the other night, opened it up, looking forward to a good read, and realized that the type is very very small! I’ve worn glasses since my late teens when I discovered that there was a reason I’d never mastered that essential skill of 1970s’ upper-class life — tennis — I have no depth perception. Astygmatism. No wonder that all those years when I’d been stranded out there on hot tennis courts bending my knees, keeping my eye on the ball, and following through that I’d never been able to hit the damn ball (not that I’m bitter or anything). At any rate, I’ve spent most of my adult life quite attached to my glasses and my corresponding nerdy-girl persona, but this! Such tiny type! Ten point, would be my guess and now that I am officially launched into middle-age, it is just too small. While I am quite liking the Pamuk novel, it would be so nice if the type was just a tiny bit larger. Oh lordy — am I now facing the prospect of glasses and bifocals? Sigh.