Speaker 1: Hey there, it's Ruby Jones. Each Sunday, we're sharing one
Speaker 1: of our favorite episodes from Schwartz Media's other podcast, Read This.
Speaker 1: The show features conversations with some of the smartest and
Speaker 1: most beloved writers from Australia and around the world. Today,
Speaker 1: we're going to hear from Booker Prize winning author and
Speaker 1: poet Michael and Dacci. Michael Williams is the host of
Speaker 1: Read This, and he's with me now. Michael Williams, Hello again,
Speaker 1: old friend.
Speaker 2: Hi Ruby.
Speaker 1: So, the writer on this episode of Read This might
Speaker 1: be most famous for his novel The English Patient, which
Speaker 1: of course became the even more famous film. But I'm
Speaker 1: curious about when you first started reading his work.
Speaker 2: I have been an on dutchy nerd for pretty much
Speaker 2: as long as I can remember being a reader, and
Speaker 2: so I was a bit star struck in his company
Speaker 2: for this interview. I reckon The first one of his
Speaker 2: I ever read was called In the Skin of a
Speaker 2: Lion and it's a story of kind of workers in
Speaker 2: nineteen thirties Toronto. There is no reason why my little
Speaker 2: nerdy self in the inner city Melbourne should have found
Speaker 2: it so resonant, and yet I did, and It's a
Speaker 2: book that I returned to every few years. It's just
Speaker 2: this enduring masterpiece. And as a consequence of my love
Speaker 2: for that book, I'm a completist. I read his poetry
Speaker 2: and I read his fiction like so many others. As
Speaker 2: you said, the English Patient when it won the Booker
Speaker 2: became one of those books that everyonem obsessed about. But
Speaker 2: his other novels like Annal's Ghost or The Cat's Table
Speaker 2: or Warlight all great. I mean, the man is a genius, and.
Speaker 1: You spoke to him about his latest poetry collection. But
Speaker 1: you also include something a little bit different in this
Speaker 1: episode as well, don't you.
Speaker 2: Yes, we did go for a bit of a departure.
Speaker 2: Because episodes are relatively short, kind of twenty to thirty minutes.
Speaker 2: We normally don't ask writers to read from their own work,
Speaker 2: just because we can to get as much of the
Speaker 2: chat in there as we can. But when it comes
Speaker 2: to poetry, there's something a bit different. This collection called
Speaker 2: A Year of Last Things, and it's really beautiful, but
Speaker 2: it has a very distinctive kind of almost a note
Speaker 2: of elegy. This is a book of poetry from a
Speaker 2: man later in his life, later in his career, and
Speaker 2: there's this kind of wonderful, melancholy rhythm to it, and
Speaker 2: the privilege of getting to hear him read from it
Speaker 2: really was kind of next level. I nerded out in
Speaker 2: a very big way.
Speaker 1: Coming up in just a moment, Michael and Ducci is
Speaker 1: learning everything again.
Speaker 2: A Year of Last Things is a stunning book. As
Speaker 2: I've explained, I was already well and truly in the
Speaker 2: tank for Michael Bondacci, but this one completely bowled me over.
Speaker 2: It's delicate and so so precise, and its meditations on memory, grief,
Speaker 2: and an emotional history spanning decades. At eighty on, Dharci
Speaker 2: speaks with the wisdom of his age, but with the
Speaker 2: enthusiasm of someone much younger, someone who's still deeply in
Speaker 2: love with and energized by discovering his craft. For someone
Speaker 2: with such an illustrious career, awards at Accolades International, acclaim,
Speaker 2: even a breed of spider named after him, I was
Speaker 2: surprised that when our conversation began with me praising this
Speaker 2: latest gem of a book, Michael and Dauci was not
Speaker 2: only modest, but actually quite tentative about the response the
Speaker 2: collection might receive. So that's where I wanted to begin.
Speaker 2: I would have hoped you would have the luxury of
Speaker 2: being through the nerves being racked at this point of
Speaker 2: your ridly career.
Speaker 3: Yeah, I hoped I would be easier, you know. But
Speaker 3: it was a very different kind of book, more personal
Speaker 3: and more intimate and self studying to a certain extent. So,
Speaker 3: I mean, while that is always there in any book
Speaker 3: you write, whether it's a not or book of poems,
Speaker 3: I hadn't written a book of portray for about twenty years.
Speaker 3: I think that was a big problem.
Speaker 2: I wanted to ask about that because it was handwriting.
Speaker 2: Was what ninety eight or thereabouts.
Speaker 3: Yeah, But then I'd also written a book with a
Speaker 3: poet in it, in the book Divisadero, So I was like,
Speaker 3: had my poet as a kind of the understudy or
Speaker 3: something like that, and so be allowed me to kind
Speaker 3: of live aside another poet for a while, you know,
Speaker 3: in a novel.
Speaker 2: So did a year of last things? Did you sit
Speaker 2: and write it as a book or does it represent
Speaker 2: twenty years of fragments and poems that you have corralled
Speaker 2: together into a book.
Speaker 3: No, there were no fragments to depend on. But I
Speaker 3: think what happened was when I finished Warlight. And this
Speaker 3: tends to happen a lot with my books. If I
Speaker 3: finished a book like Warlight, where I felt I'd written
Speaker 3: as much as I knew about the novel, I realized
Speaker 3: I had to do something else, like it couldn't be
Speaker 3: another novel, you know, in the same way that when
Speaker 3: I finished another book of poems and I felt that
Speaker 3: was as far as I could go, then I had
Speaker 3: to try and write a novel, you know, and change forms.
Speaker 3: So I just felt I really wanted to change the language,
Speaker 3: to change my language, I think, and it allowed me
Speaker 3: to kind of really leap into something I hadn't done
Speaker 3: for a long time, so really for about four years.
Speaker 3: But the beginning of COVID.
Speaker 2: Is that the sequence for you generally, you know the
Speaker 2: mode or or the form that you want to work in,
Speaker 2: and then that takes you where it takes you, or
Speaker 2: do you do you have a kernel of a story
Speaker 2: or an idea that then finds its form.
Speaker 3: I wish I had any of those, but I don't
Speaker 3: have those things. I didn't have any poems. I just
Speaker 3: decided I wanted to write poetry. I wanted to change
Speaker 3: my voice. You know. It's like another discovery of oneself.
Speaker 3: And I was very close to Wallight, but I just
Speaker 3: wanted to do something else. And so I've already spent
Speaker 3: about four years, three and a half years to four
Speaker 3: years trying to write a book of poems. I then
Speaker 3: began to write these. You know, I felt very new
Speaker 3: poems and very personal poems about me at this point
Speaker 3: in my life as opposed to twenty years ago whenever
Speaker 3: it was. And so it wasn't a kind of archival
Speaker 3: book for me. I guess it's a rediscovery of myself,
Speaker 3: you know, in some kind of way. And I had
Speaker 3: characters like you know, the poet and one of the
Speaker 3: other books, and you know, a lot of happened for
Speaker 3: me in the last while, so I felt I could
Speaker 3: investigate all of that.
Speaker 2: You know, returning to a film like poetry, is it
Speaker 2: like an actor returning to a role. I mean, do
Speaker 2: you have certain things that you knew for yourself when
Speaker 2: you sat down to write that first poem for this
Speaker 2: book where you said, I know this is where these
Speaker 2: are the muscles in my brain I need to exercise,
Speaker 2: or this is how open I need to be on
Speaker 2: the line. Did it come back to you or was
Speaker 2: it learning it afresh.
Speaker 3: It was really learning everything again. I had no idea
Speaker 3: what the first line of poem was. Let alone you
Speaker 3: know the last line, you know, and of course rober
Speaker 3: Quidy has that line. If you know what the end
Speaker 3: of the poem is, you make that the first line
Speaker 3: of the poem. So you're not traveling towards something you
Speaker 3: already know. And I think that's a very important remarking
Speaker 3: made for me, that you begin the poem not having
Speaker 3: a clue where you're going. So that was why it
Speaker 3: was a bit nerve wracking, I think as well. And
Speaker 3: I hadn't shown the poem any poems to anyone. I
Speaker 3: didn't really talk about the fact that I was writing poems,
Speaker 3: so it was this sort of secret sharer situation. But
Speaker 3: it was energizing, you know, in that that sense.
Speaker 2: What's that relationship between not knowing where the poem's going
Speaker 2: it letting it be a process of discovery and writing
Speaker 2: poetry as so much of this book seems to me
Speaker 2: to be about memory, about revisiting things in the past
Speaker 2: and kind of excavating those and understanding them through poetry.
Speaker 3: Except you know, there's a lot of fiction in here
Speaker 3: as well. I don't think this is an archive of
Speaker 3: what happened to me for the last fifteen years at all.
Speaker 3: And there's a poem in their definition, you know, which
Speaker 3: begains with looking at a Sanskrit dictionary and then just
Speaker 3: wanders around all the possible fictions that are in a
Speaker 3: Sanskrit dictionary, which was very exciting, you know. Coin washes
Speaker 3: about strange professions and so forth of a Sanskrit dictionary
Speaker 3: with its verbs for holy obsessions. The name for an
Speaker 3: alcove of coin washers whose fingers glint all night with
Speaker 3: dark lead grains of soul. Here, root vowels take an
Speaker 3: accent at high altitudes, the way dictionaries speak over mountains,
Speaker 3: a single word to portray light from that distant village
Speaker 3: reflected in a cloud, or your lover's face lit by
Speaker 3: the moonlight on a stage. That poem ends with a
Speaker 3: sort of heartbreaking love form of loss. The ancient phrases
Speaker 3: give you the coin of escape. That epithet for those
Speaker 3: who return to broken relationships repeatedly, will row you away
Speaker 3: from confusion or remain only for remembrance. This is how
Speaker 3: deep I was lost, my darling, And it wasn't even
Speaker 3: the fact that I was moving towards something that was
Speaker 3: had happened to me. It was the only place I
Speaker 3: could exit the poem, you know, And there were two
Speaker 3: or three places where I could have gone somewhere else
Speaker 3: with the poem. And I think that kind of, you know,
Speaker 3: going back to Creeley, that was a kind of real
Speaker 3: excitement to find and guide the poem somewhere that I
Speaker 3: hadn't been before.
Speaker 2: Well. I was looking at my copy of The Cat's
Speaker 2: Table again last night and thinking about the way in
Speaker 2: which you use fiction and memoir, and then I was
Speaker 2: thinking about the way that you used poetry and fiction here,
Speaker 2: and it seemed to me that you seem to find
Speaker 2: stories in unlikely places.
Speaker 3: Yes, I mean, I think in some ways Cat's Table
Speaker 3: and this book are very similar. You know. It is
Speaker 3: like an autobiography of a life, and you know, the
Speaker 3: young boy getting on a ship and then by the
Speaker 3: end of the book he's you know, he's bearing on
Speaker 3: the BBC or something like that. Yeah, And I feel
Speaker 3: very close to book still, And in fact, some of
Speaker 3: the characters in that book turned up here with the
Speaker 3: Barnabas and so forth. But it was like going back
Speaker 3: and saying, you know, but that book was about a ship,
Speaker 3: but this is, you know, a different kind of more
Speaker 3: intimate loss or discovery, you know. So I think that
Speaker 3: was a pleasure to return to that place. I feel
Speaker 3: very close to that book. And I mean a friend
Speaker 3: of mine wrote to me after the book came out
Speaker 3: and he said, you know, I always loved Running the Family,
Speaker 3: and I always wondered why the hell you didn't write
Speaker 3: your sequel to that book, And here it is.
Speaker 2: I so love the way you talk about that relationship
Speaker 2: between writing and discovery. That there is clearly a real
Speaker 2: joy in letting it unfold and not operating on a schematic,
Speaker 2: not operating on a kind of any preconceived idea.
Speaker 3: Right. I think that's that's very essential. I mean, that's
Speaker 3: not something I am conscious of, but obviously this is
Speaker 3: something that I'm I will enter a novel, whether it's
Speaker 3: Wallight or something else. We have no idea where it's going,
Speaker 3: you know, and rather like the crearly poem thing, the
Speaker 3: excitement is the discovery of the fiction much more than
Speaker 3: getting it right. You can always go back and rewrite
Speaker 3: the damn book, you know, the act of writing the
Speaker 3: first draft and then writing the seventh draft, because I
Speaker 3: do a lot of drafts. It is really constantly exciting
Speaker 3: to me, you know, in removing something and or having
Speaker 3: to put something back in again. I began this book
Speaker 3: very naively and very innocently, you know, nakedly, I think,
Speaker 3: because I didn't know where I was going to go.
Speaker 3: So it has a lot of rediscovery as I'm writing.
Speaker 2: When I return, Michael discusses the physicality of writing poetry
Speaker 2: and reveals his one real weakness, illegible handwriting.
Speaker 4: We'll be back in a minute.
Speaker 2: I can't resist kicking off the second half of this
Speaker 2: episode with another reading from Michael Londacci, firstly because there
Speaker 2: are few pleasures more acute than hearing a poet read
Speaker 2: their work, but secondly because this poem, Last Things, gives
Speaker 2: the collection its name and beautifully captures the note of
Speaker 2: elegy that runs through the book.
Speaker 5: Three Below Dante. I had been alone for weeks when
Speaker 5: we met There Below Dante, the three of us lounged
Speaker 5: in a poncion. I was writing a book about a
Speaker 5: dying man. Twenty years later, you were in a bed
Speaker 5: on Brunswick Avenue and I kissed your feet. Conny. One
Speaker 5: of my shy farewells it was your year of last Things,
Speaker 5: but you were luminous within those final fires. Earlier, alone
Speaker 5: in that city, I had dreamed the statue falling brutal
Speaker 5: from its noble height, and the poet crawling through plaster,
Speaker 5: so near to where we met in that piazza those
Speaker 5: years ago. Now we gather our days together, the countless meals,
Speaker 5: laughter and argument four of us at vicious Canaster, those
Speaker 5: small and essential faints, Marguerita's the dancing, and once drunk
Speaker 5: in a car on some island or other, all those
Speaker 5: small recalls of this and that before our walk a
Speaker 5: bus circus into the dark.
Speaker 2: You mentioned before that when you were writing in this book,
Speaker 2: I think you were saying the poem definition was the
Speaker 2: one that you had in mind, that it became clear
Speaker 2: to you as you were writing it that this moment
Speaker 2: of grief and loss was the only way you could
Speaker 2: get out of the poem, that that was the natural
Speaker 2: culmination of the rest of kind of the work in there.
Speaker 2: Grief and loss play a huge part in this book.
Speaker 2: It is a book in no small way of those
Speaker 2: kind of themes and ideas, and in fact, in the
Speaker 2: poem that gives the collection its name. Last Things there's
Speaker 2: the beautiful line when you're reflecting and I kissed your feet, Connie,
Speaker 2: one of my shy farewells, And it's a beautiful line.
Speaker 2: But in particular, one of the things that struck me
Speaker 2: is that it's one of your shy farewells. You know
Speaker 2: that these goodbyes are clearly, if not common, then at
Speaker 2: least lived again and again, right.
Speaker 3: Yeah. I mean in fact that that was a very
Speaker 3: close friendship that Linda and I had with Leon and
Speaker 3: Connie Rooke, and we've not had known it for a
Speaker 3: long time, and then she died of cancer. So I mean,
Speaker 3: it was the kind of how do you It's more
Speaker 3: about the loss of that friendship within the four of
Speaker 3: us than anything else, and I just wanted to deal
Speaker 3: with that, But I also wanted to try and deal
Speaker 3: with it intimately, you know. And the only thing I
Speaker 3: think was that the last time I saw her, I
Speaker 3: kissed her feet as a farewell. It's just very intimate
Speaker 3: in a way. I'm not quite sure how to say this,
Speaker 3: but there was a real need to celebrate that kind
Speaker 3: of friendship as well as a love story and something else.
Speaker 2: You know, Also that idea that for the poet memory
Speaker 2: and Losser tied up with that communion between writing and
Speaker 2: being read that the showing of the energy to someone
Speaker 2: is is the act of loving them and remembering them.
Speaker 2: If they're gone, then it's a kind of unclosed circle.
Speaker 3: Yeah. I didn't really think of all this as as
Speaker 3: an ellergy, but I mean, the element of energy is
Speaker 3: very central in this book. You know, even with someone
Speaker 3: you are still with, you know, it is a kind
Speaker 3: of a relief that when it's still with them, you know.
Speaker 3: And there work poems that were also fictional because I
Speaker 3: think that there's one point that takes place in a
Speaker 3: in a museum, and in fact it's not about any
Speaker 3: anybody I know, But it was just the idea that
Speaker 3: I was told to go to the Triassic period. I
Speaker 3: had to go downstairs, and you know, it's suddenly that
Speaker 3: that became a that became a plot. But it seems
Speaker 3: very personal and so forth. But in an odd way,
Speaker 3: the landscape suggests a possibility.
Speaker 2: One of the great joys of this book is about
Speaker 2: the role of language itself. I mean, you mentioned the
Speaker 2: exploration of the Sanskrit dictionary before, but even in a
Speaker 2: poem like Estuaries, where it's about language refusing to meet
Speaker 2: a reader. The poems, the form of poetry, the kind
Speaker 2: of interplay of language, is as much a theme of
Speaker 2: this book as it is a feature.
Speaker 3: Yeah. The thing about poetry, especially after you we spent
Speaker 3: about fifteen years on novels, is it allows you that
Speaker 3: kind of quiet intricacy, you know, that can occur in
Speaker 3: describing a very simple moment that you're not concerned with
Speaker 3: plot or the advance of the story or the introduction
Speaker 3: and the character. It's very difficult to say, but I
Speaker 3: mean the pleasure of doing this book for me was
Speaker 3: I felt very intimate in the act of writing. And
Speaker 3: we are writing a novel, who are dealing with you know,
Speaker 3: Act one should end pretty soon, or or this character
Speaker 3: had to go to Asia at some point, you know.
Speaker 3: And I mean, the novel allows you all kinds of
Speaker 3: little sideways and to side turns and so forth, but
Speaker 3: the poem can slow it down to just down to
Speaker 3: about three words, and that that is actually kind of wonderful, you.
Speaker 2: Know, Given the ways in which characters recur or stories
Speaker 2: circle back in on themselves, do you return to earlier poems,
Speaker 2: earlier novels, or do you finish them and move on?
Speaker 2: Because you've already been surprised by that book.
Speaker 3: I do move on from having written that persona or personality,
Speaker 3: but I always continue to change that. You know, I
Speaker 3: really do a lot of drafts, and I then try
Speaker 3: it on three or four people and I get the
Speaker 3: sense of it. I mean, I trust editors. I don't
Speaker 3: always agree with them, but I do trust them, and
Speaker 3: they will say, well, there's too much of this, and
Speaker 3: you modify or you clarify. The act of writing is
Speaker 3: such a pleasure. You know, it's exhausting, but you know
Speaker 3: you are really kind of inventing a story which you
Speaker 3: didn't have. I have no idea what the plot is,
Speaker 3: and that happens a lot in these books, in the
Speaker 3: way that in the poem, Okay, I've got written four
Speaker 3: lines in this poem, and where's it going to go
Speaker 3: from here? And that sense of surprise and discovery in
Speaker 3: the poem is really a surprise and discovery of yourself,
Speaker 3: as opposed to you're not kind of putting on a
Speaker 3: play or a scene. You are really kind of intricately
Speaker 3: trying to know something about what you're trying to do
Speaker 3: right now.
Speaker 2: Has that changed as you've gotten older as a writer
Speaker 2: or has that been a kind of constant.
Speaker 3: It's been a constant. I mean, I think what's interesting
Speaker 3: to me was that the structure of the book became
Speaker 3: something very very important later on. That is, I'd written, say,
Speaker 3: but forty or fifty poems that made up the book,
Speaker 3: but not in that order, so I had to do
Speaker 3: something else. So the chronology is not a pattern. The
Speaker 3: chronology has to be altered so that you can reveal
Speaker 3: more so that for instance, in this book, And it
Speaker 3: was something I discovered that I've listed all the titles
Speaker 3: on little index cards on a table. There's a lock
Speaker 3: poem the first poem, and there's a lock poem near
Speaker 3: the end, and then there was a lock poem somewhere
Speaker 3: in the middle. And I had no awareness of even
Speaker 3: the repetition of talking about locks. But suddenly, by placing
Speaker 3: them there, it became adding a you know, act one,
Speaker 3: Act two, three, you know, having that kind of effect
Speaker 3: of by going back, and that was the pattern kind
Speaker 3: of helped I think the readers were.
Speaker 2: As me, and and that kind of sense of surprise
Speaker 2: that comes from the unlikely juxtaposition or the wilfully jarring transition,
Speaker 2: or the kind of elegant parallels. I mean, if I
Speaker 2: think right back to your first book, Coming through Slaughter,
Speaker 2: the ways in which you have written about music in
Speaker 2: general and jazz in particular, about that relationship between things,
Speaker 2: and that relationship between structure and play. Structure and play
Speaker 2: have a very intimate relationship in poetry, it seems to.
Speaker 3: Me absolutely, you know, it's just reputation of one word
Speaker 3: will also everything you know, and that's real pleasure of
Speaker 3: writing that you can kind of you're like from mad scientist,
Speaker 3: you know, with a load of game, and no one
Speaker 3: can come in the door until you've got that balance
Speaker 3: or something you know, And writing a poem is very
Speaker 3: physical for me. The voice, a tone, the loudness of
Speaker 3: a word as a huge effect.
Speaker 2: Do you read it loud as you write? Do you
Speaker 2: pace the room or is it? Is it all an
Speaker 2: interior thing?
Speaker 3: It's very interior. I mean, I don't have to say
Speaker 3: it out loud. But there was a time when I
Speaker 3: was especially if it's a novel, because no one could
Speaker 3: beat my handwriting, and I'm a very slow typist. I
Speaker 3: would have to read the whole novel onto a tape
Speaker 3: recorder and someone would type it out. But even in
Speaker 3: that last act of fixing things. I was changing things around.
Speaker 2: Your handwriting is so bad that you have to record
Speaker 2: it into a tape that people can transcribe it. Yes,
Speaker 2: I love that that it's wilfully obscure. The magic of
Speaker 2: the kind of the words that you create. The idea
Speaker 2: that on the page there in a form that only
Speaker 2: you can see seems kind of nice.
Speaker 3: I know. And the handwriting is genuinely bad, so but
Speaker 3: you know that it gives me a last chance. You know,
Speaker 3: it's like a dress rehearsal, so you can, oh, we
Speaker 3: can know there's too much of that going on here
Speaker 3: and take it out.
Speaker 4: Makes a lot of sense.
Speaker 2: I just wanted to return to a year of last
Speaker 2: things and that idea of it being nerve wracking. And
Speaker 2: I'm curious about when you know a book is done,
Speaker 2: when you feel that sense of kind of confidence that
Speaker 2: you've achieved the things that you wanted to achieve with it,
Speaker 2: and you can put it aside and stop worrying.
Speaker 3: I didn't stop worrying about this book until quite recently.
Speaker 3: I mean, I've written love poems before, I've written you know,
Speaker 3: other books that have that kind of closeness between people.
Speaker 3: But it was just more so. I think I don't
Speaker 3: know what it was, but it wasn't so much about
Speaker 3: the intimacy, but how you write about intimacy, you know,
Speaker 3: and there was a lot of that intimacy there in
Speaker 3: the book.
Speaker 2: So in the interests of not kind of repeating yourself,
Speaker 2: in the interests of kind of being pushed to somewhere new,
Speaker 2: can we take that off the back of the year
Speaker 2: of last things? It has to be a novel. There,
Speaker 2: you're there kind of beavering away already.
Speaker 3: No, I'm not beavering on a novel. Yeah, I think
Speaker 3: I want to wait a while, you know. I mean, yeah,
Speaker 3: who knows if there's a novel any you know. I
Speaker 3: mean usually I don't know if that there's a novel
Speaker 3: in me until I started writing the novel, you know.
Speaker 3: And then god, we'll just go somewhere on crash, you know,
Speaker 3: land on the second chapter, you know. So that's that's
Speaker 3: always a problem, whether it'll involve or not. And then
Speaker 3: there's a handwriting too.
Speaker 2: Well, you know, that's going to make it harder for everyone.
Speaker 2: For what I'm extremely glad that you returned to poetry
Speaker 2: with the latest book. It's such a delight to read
Speaker 2: it and such a delight.
Speaker 3: To talk to you today, you too, thank you for that.
Speaker 2: Michael On Dutchi's latest book, A Year of Last Things,
Speaker 2: is available now, and if you want to hear him
Speaker 2: read those gorgeous poems, I highly recommend the audiobook.
Speaker 1: Thanks so much for listening to another special episode of
Speaker 1: Read This. Join us each Sunday to hear our favorite
Speaker 1: interviews from the show. Listen out for upcoming conversations with
Speaker 1: Robbie Arnott and Charlotte Wood. And if you don't want
Speaker 1: to wait until next Sunday to dive in to Read This,
Speaker 1: you can search for it wherever you listen to podcasts.