I don’t think I’ve ever seen a review of new books that underscored more how writing is not a one-way monologue; it is a conversation. Sometimes that conversation is with ourselves. Sometimes it is with the past or future. Sometimes it is a conversation with other books – a response to another work, or art, or music, something which moved the writer to give back. And sometimes, as this NYTimes article makes clear, it is a conversation between two people intimately concerned with their connection through a common experience. In this case the experience is a young man’s methamphetamine addiction, and the conversation plays out through two books: one from the father, and one from the addict son.