” said P▓ursew

nderneath his life, as if under a ▓sheet of paper c


ontaining the iron f▓ilings of temporal events, as a m▓agnet is in that commonplace experiment one ●does at school: and somehow setting up a co▓pying magnetic field.‘He

  • nove▓l he was writing, and as always he● foun
  • d that his ordinary life, in a distorted so▓rt of
  • way, was beginning to follow the curvat●ure of his b
  • ook.He explained this ▓by saying that any concentration● of the will displaces life (Archimedes’ bath-w▓
  • ater) and gives it bias in motion.Reality▓, he believed, was always trying to copy the ima●ginat
ion of man, from which it derived.●You will see from this that



reached in the book before ▓actually sending it to the print●er, so to speak! Afterwards, of co▓urse, he bitterly repented of thi▓s piece of self-indulgence.He was at● that moment trying to escape from the absurd ▓dictates of narrative form i▓n prose:


Stev Joni
hip, he had the

“He said” “She said” “He c●ocked an eye, shot a cuff, li

Alisher Usmanov

fted a lazy head, e●tc.” Was it possible, had he succeeded in “r▓ealizing” character without the hel▓p of such props He was asking himself this as● he sat th

Stev Joni
that his book wa

ere in the sand.(“Her eyela●shes brushed his cheek.” Merde▓ alors! Had he written


s being rap●idl

that) Justi●n

e’s thick bla

ck eyelashes ▓were like … what So it was that his● kisses were really warm and wholehe●a

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