Insight Cannot Be Taken Back. You Cannot

Beneath Every History, Another History.

Fiction Leaves Us So Much Work To Do, Allows The Individual So Much Input; You Have To See, You Have To Hear, You Have To Taste The Madeleine, And While You Are Seemingly Passive In Your Chair, You Have To Travel.

So Many Years Of Preparation, For What Was Called Adult Life: Was It For This?

The Fate Of Peoples Is Made Like This, Two Men In Small Rooms. Forget The Coronations, The Conclaves Of Cardinals, The Pomp And Processions. This Is How The World Changes: A Counter Pushed Across A Table, A Pen Stroke That Alters The Force Of A Phrase, A Woman's Sigh As She Passes And Leaves On The Air A Trail Of Orange Flower Or Rose Water; Her Hand Pulling Close The Bed Curtain, The Discreet Sigh Of Flesh Against Flesh.

Some Readers Read A Book As If It Were An Instruction Manual, Expecting To Understand Everything First Time, But Of Course When You Write, You Put Into Every Sentence An Overflow Of Meaning, And You Create In Every Sentence As Many Resonances And Double Meanings And Ambiguities As You Can Possibly Pack In There, So That People Can Read It Again And Get Something New Each Time.