vendredi 16 juillet 2010

Bernard Malamud, THE TENANTS, New York, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, 1971

Mourning died slowly. It never fully dies for something truly loved. He read an ink-stained wet letter he found in a puddle. In it a man wept for love of a woman who had died. How can Lesser go on after the loss of his manuscript? It isn't all, he tells himself, but doesn't believe it. It isn't all, It isn't all. The book is not the writer, the writer writes the book. It is only a book, it is not my life. I will rewrite it, I am the writer.
(p. 179-180)

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