Probably no writer spent more time in a room of her own than Emily Dickinson. In her 20s, she stopped socializing, and by middle age, Dickinson hardly ever left the family home in Amherst, Massachusetts. Even there, nobody knew that one of America’s greatest poets was at work upstairs. In one poem, Dickinson wonders if loneliness is “the maker of the soul.” Jennifer van Dyck reads.
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