It really is he that is writing. But if his wife had X-ray vision she would see that instead of being present at an exercise of literary creation, shes witnessing a session of hypnosis. Theres NOTHING inside the man who sits there writing. Nothing of himself I mean. How much better off the poor man would be if he devoted himself to reading. Reading is pleasure and happiness to be alive or sadness to be alive and above all its knowledge and questions. Writing, meanwhile, is almost empty. There is nothing in the guts of the man who sits there writing.....He writes like someone taking dictation. His novel or book of poems, decent , adequate , arises not from an exercise of style or will, as the poor unfortunate believes, but as a result of an exercise of concealment. There must be many books, many lovely pines, to shield from hungry eyes the book that really matters, the wretched cave of our misfortune, the magic flower of winter! BOLANO 2666
Posted on: Thu, 21 Nov 2013 06:56:35 +0000