I Feel Bad About My Neck

just about everything is a story.

Or, as E. L. Doctorow once wrote, far more succinctly “I am led to the proposition that there is no fiction or nonfiction as we commonly understand the distinction; there is only narrative.”

Meanwhile, we all began to cook in a wildly neurotic and competitive way. We were looking for applause, we were constantly performing, we were desperate to be all things to all people. Was this the grand climax of the post–World War II domestic counterrevolution or the beginning of a pathological strain of feminist overreaching? No one knew. We wer