Kugel set off, the wind in what would have been, some years ago, his hair.

Why did children always draw the sun smiling? he wondered. It’s a giant ball of fire, kids. It’s rage and fury. Whatever it’s doing, it isn’t fucking smiling.

You never see a lion crucifying another lion. You never see a bear just randomly murdering salmon for anything besides food; bears don’t form armies, invade rivers, tear the heads off male salmon, rape the female salmon, and enslave their salmon children.

There’s nothing to get. We’re ugly. Have you been to the zoo lately? You should go. Take Jonah with you, it will be good for him. See the placid zebra strolling in his field. Witness the mighty lion lazing in the sun. Smile at the droopy-eyed camel enjoying a mouthful of grass. Then go to the monkey house. Go see your forefathers. They are, by far,

We think of the obvious signs of love—tenderness, concern, care—and yet somehow, nothing said more about the health of a couple’s relationship than whether or not they went to bed at the same time.

THAT NIGHT, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Kugel thought he heard a gentle tapping on the vent, but decided that he hadn’t. Maybe he had. He hadn’t.

how could she think that dying was always more tragic than living?

the philosophy of science, the science of literature, the art of philosophy, the science of art, books about other books and the books about those books about other books; Gogol on Pushkin, Nabokov on Gogol, Wilson on Nabokov on Gogol. Joyce on The Odyssey, Beckett on Joyce, everyone on Beckett.

I’m Miss Holocaust, 1945.