It wasn’t the first book I read, or the first character I loved. Although it’s stayed in print since 1911, it wasn’t discussed among my friends, nor was it this author’s most famous work. That made first love all the sweeter for me, for it was an act of discovery. Jennie Gerhardt was all mine. Ours was an introduction of convenience; my parents had a copy on their bookshelves. Until I re-read it this month in preparation for this post, I couldn’t have told you the particulars of plot or character. I still can’t remember what the cover looked like—neither can Google, as there’ve been many over the past century. If my blur of memory sounds odd, forgive me. It’s been forty years since I spent time with Theodore Dreiser ’s prose. What's important about first love is the way it makes you feel, and that I recall vividly. Jennie Gerhardt was the first book I’d ever read without racing to The End. Then, as now, I saw my life limited only by the number of novels I could read. But