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158 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1950
But really, that's life. Forty years of being respected by shipowners, and next thing you know, you're transporting Chinese people without knowing it.In another, a castaway, after ascertaining that the island that he has been stranded on us in fact deserted, finds a deep cavern and sleeps "the kind of sleep I'd always wanted to but life had never let me" only to be rescued a few minutes later, much to his chagrin. In yet another, a narrator keeps his thoughts of suicide in an aquarium ("they have flat little heads, whitish and triangular, like certain phonograph needles, needles of a model I believe has been forgotten") where he feeds them "sorrows, pulled teeth, wounds[...], worries" etc.
[...]but it's not up to me, I'm not the one who laid out this story, that's not what happensin which he absolves himself of the responsibility of the words he’s written. And, in a way, it’s fitting – there is this fevered haze that lays across all of these works, and one can easily see Ferry, trance-like, auto-writing these pieces in a delirium.