that fatuous surface where you can breathe and where you can’t write.

You had to be humble and arrogant too Faulkner had said. You had to be arrogant to say “Chateaubriand or nothing” and you had to be humble to sharply feel how little right or claim you had to such assertions, hugging the sea bottom, all that buoyance of self-regard trying to tear you from it, get you back to that fatuous surface where you can breathe and where you can’t write.


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