I'm not sure that cities like Miami and Rio de Janeiro truly appreciate the sun. They clearly enjoy the sun, what with their beach volleyball games and their fruity cocktails. But to really appreciate the sun, I think you have to live in a place that gets dark by 4 p.m. in the winter. A place where a typical summer day involves drizzle. A place, in short, like London.
This morning, I woke up in my East London apartment to a strange vision: The bright summer sun, streaming in through my window. I thought about how much of the world's great literature is informed by British gloom, from the Hound of the Baskervilles stalking the moor to Macbeth plotting in his dark castle. And I wondered what the world's great poems, plays, and novels would look like if every day in London were so happy go-lucky. So I tweeted:
Here are a few of my favorite replies: