I've only read one story so far (busted) and-- turns out-- it wasn't even fiction. It sounds like Lahiri and read the same books as kids though:
I learned what my fictional companions ate and wore, learned how they spoke, learned about the toys scattered in their rooms, how they sat by the fire on a cold day drinking hot chocolate. I learned about the vacations they took, the blueberries they picked, the jams their mothers stirred on the stove. For me, the act of reading was one of discovery in the most basic sense.
Also in this issue: