We Have Really No Absent Friends.

The Writer, Like A Swimmer Caught By An Undertow, Is Borne In An Unexpected Direction. He Is Carried To A Subject Which Has Awaited Him--a Subject Sometimes No Part Of His Conscious Plan. Reality, The Reality Of Sensation, Has Accumulated Where It Was Least Sought. To Write Is To Be Captured--captured By Some Experience To Which One May Have Given Hardly A Thought.

Everything Is Very Quiet, The Streets Are Never Crowded, And The People One Dislikes Are Out Of Town.

Almost Everyone Admits To Hunger During The Opera.... Hunger Is So Exalting That During A Last Act You Practically Levitate.

The Novel Does Not Simply Recount Experience, It Adds To Experience.

Solitary And Farouche People Don't Have Relationships; They Are Quite Unrelatable.