jeudi 5 août 2010
Paul Auster, LEVIATHAN, New York, Penguin Books, 1992
The practical jokes and renegade antics died out then, and while his academic performance in high school was hardly outstanding [...], he read books constantly and was already beginning to think of himself as a future writer. By his own admission, his first works were awful - "romantico-absurdist soul-searchings," he once called them, wretched little stories and poems that he kept an absolute secret from everyone. But he stuck with it, and as a sign of his growing seriousness, he went out and bought himself a pipe at the age of seventeen. This was the badge of every true writer, he thought, and during his last year of high school he spent every evening sitting at his desk, pen in one hand, pipe in the other, filling his room with smoke.