There Are Times When Every

No One Ever Confides A Secret To One Person Only. No One Destroys All Copies Of A Document.

The Whole Magic Of A Plot Requires That Somebody Be Impeded From Getting Something Over With.

The Writer Has A Grudge Against Society, Which He Documents With Accounts Of Unsatisfying Sex, Unrealized Ambition, Unmitigated Loneliness, And A Sense Of Local And Global Distress. The Square, Overpopulation, The Bourgeois, The Bomb And The Cocktail Party Are Variously Identified As Sources Of The Grudge. There Follows A Little Obscenity Here, A Dash Of Philosophy There, Considerable Whining Overall, And A Modern Satirical Novel Is Born.

Self-pity” Is Just Sadness, I Think, In The Pejorative.

There Are Times When Every Act, No Matter How Private And Unconscious, Becomes Political.