A biography? Pff. A pile of dry facts: born, schooled, flatlined. That has nothing whatsoever to do with anything. All the really interesting stuff happens not in the dates, but in the space between your ears. How old? Old enough to remember when phones were tethered to the wall by the umbilical cord of a spiral phone wire, and not old enough to forget what it’s like to wait for a new book by your favorite author, with an impatience that feels like looking forward to a second Christmas in a row.