Essay on earn to a Young Novelist
by Mario Vargas Llosa
pupil: Eric Kasum
Advisor: Rachel Pollack
Goddard College
Revised February 23, 2004 - Winter/Spring
illustration is a lie uncovering a deep right ... Rebellion lies at the heart of every literary commerce ... the desire to change reality, the questioning of real life, which is the secret raison dêtre of publications ... They dont imagine themselves as plotting secretly to dynamite the world ... The uncontrollable and thrilling moment you decide whether you will go beyond amusing yourself ... leads you into servitude, into nothing less than slavery ... an all-encompassing, all-excluding occupation, an urgent antecedency ... A tapeworm ... Those who make this vocation their own dont indite to live but live to write.
As I read Letters to a Young Novelist by candlelight - the power blacked come to the fore a little over an hour ago - it haunts me. My head teacher is sick, my stomach queasy. I am horrified, thrashed by a whirlpool, a fish in a blender. How could he know? Vargas Llosa whispers in my ear. not in English, but in a peculiar(a) language only we two can understand. A of import language of secrets.
The wind rustles the curtains at my window. The candle flickers. An unbearable virtue wants to come inside.
Whats he saying? I try to listen. I am naked, trembling, a lonely tree in a field of snow. I hear him whisper, You are not alone. Not alone? Is he insane? I have eternally been alone.
In my childhood fantasies, I was always a hero. I believe rescuing my Dad from a polar bear when I was rough three years old. I was riding on my tricycle. He says it didnt really happen. What does he know? I was also Student Body President,
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