I read some of Trillin's stuff, mostly in the New Yorker magazine. I thought of it as mostly easy reading, not deep, not life-changing, sort of like a long letter from a friend. His memoirs of growing up Jewish were kind of boring to me, because they were too much like my own life. I guess what I kept reading them for was the thrill of recognition - - oh yeah! that's just what it was like! or, yes! I had an aunt and uncle who were just like that! or, but that's EXACTLY what my own mum used to say! He had a kind of arch, detached, above-it-all style of narration that looks like it's easy to write, but is actually very difficult. It seems to be almost a prerequisite for getting into the New Yorker, although some writers (Junot Diaz, Sapphire, et al.,) can get in without it if they have their own unique, distinctive style.