In our circle of chairs, we read our books after eating: Nice Girls Don’t Get Rich for Varvara, and Chernobyl by Serhii Plokhy for me, P.D. James for Tanya, Jane Austen for Eloise. Maybe we should have swapped and learnt something, as Varvara, born in Ukraine, knew little detail about the nuclear catastrophe of 1986 and I knew little about twenty-first century capitalism.
Read more