There’s a joke that everyone in New York who’s reading a book in public is just doing it to be seen reading that book.  This is not true in Atlanta, though, because no one here reads.  Part of it may be down to the dearth of public transportation; reading while driving is not an option, unless you want to put your life at even greater risk than you already have by the mere fact of getting behind the wheel in this city (and, of course, there is the matter of texting, as Werner Herzog reminded us). If Atlantans do read, it must be in secret, and most likely the Bible.

But I have occasionally cracked a book in a bar in Atlanta, typically when I’m alone in the city and footloose, in the hope that something interesting might happen if I wait long enough.  As a professor, I assign a…