By Anna Elkins
A progressive encounter of possibility.Paris, Night, Letters My love letter from the Sahara begins in Paris. It is March and just after dark on the Île Saint-Louis. My friend Christina and I have arrived at a literary salon in a swanky apartment with high-beamed ceilings and low lights. The evening’s theme: letters written by hundreds of women a dozen years ago to a man featured as an eligible bachelor in Marie Claire.