I Love Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Flannery

When I Was Growing Up The Publishing World Seemed So Far Away. When My Mother Wrote A Book, She Would Look Up The Address Of Publishers On The Backs Of The Books She Owned And Send Off Her Manuscript.

You Lived Intensely With Others, Only To Have Them Disappear Overnight, Since The Shadow Class Was Condemned To Movement. The Men Left For Other Jobs, Towns, Got Deported, Returned Home, Changed Names. Sometimes Someone Came Popping Around A Corner Again, Or On The Subway Then They Vanished Again. Addresses, Phone Numbers Did Not Hold. The Emptiness Biju Felt Returned To Him Over And Over, Until Eventually He Made Sure Not To Let Friendships Sink Deep Anymore.

This Way Of Leaving Your Family For Work Had Condemned Them Over Several Generations To Have Their Hearts Always In Other Places, Their Minds Thinking About People Elsewhere; They Could Never Be In A Single Existence At One Time. How Wonderful It Was Going To Be To Have Things Otherwise.

But Then, How Could You Have Any Self-respect Knowing That You Didn't Believe In Anything Exactly? How Did You Embrace What Was Yours If You Didn't Leave Something For It? How Did You Create A Life Of Meaning And Pride?

Looking A Dead Insect In The Sack Of Basmati That Had Come All The Way From Dehra Dun, He Almost Wept With Sorrow And Marvel At Its Journey, Which Was Tenderness For His Own Journey. In India Almost Nobody Would Be Able To Afford This Rice, And You Had To Travel Around The World To Be Able To Eat Such Things Where They Were Cheap Enough That You Could Gobble Them Down Without Being Rich; And When You Got Home To The Place Where They Grew, You Couldn't Afford Them Anymore.