Sublime

Besides, he talked so well—it would be like punching literature in the mouth.

You’re a starcher, he said, skinny but strong. You can fight them off, the Kafkas. Hit them in the kishkas. And remember to read the nature poets—a pastoral a day keeps the doctor away. Don’t be so proud of your anxiety.

Kafka was as popular in the Village at that time as Dickens had been in Victorian London.

Is something the matter? I asked, but of course she didn’t answer. She didn’t believe in questions.

But I was like an immigrant who goes from a poor country to a rich one and can’t quite believe in his new prosperity. I distrusted my happiness—it seemed too easy and I was afraid it might be simply a failure of consciousness. My imagination itched and I had nothing to scratch.

In a way I was just as inhibited as they were by my upbringing, which condemned me to a combination of boredom and desire.