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248 pages, Hardcover
First published January 13, 1996
Since you are here, you too must be a bibliogourmand, taking sensual as well as cerebral pleasure in the act of reading. And that’s what’s on the table here: creation caught in the act, writer and muse in flagrante delicto, biting each other’s mouths.
My friend the Palestinian author Soraya Antonius suggests it must have been a chilled car, and they were taking care of the body, not humiliating the man. I would also add that oysters are ever the perfect accompaniment to champagne, and Chekhov’s final meal was now complete.
Honore de Balzac deserves special honor in this book for having written all his human comedy with a crow’s quill, or the quills of many crows.
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
So the muse will come and mate with it, of course.
Ravens and crows have traditionally been associated with the dead, and not only in Poe’s “The Raven”, so the crow who landed on our cover came from far away and for an endless stay. Trees have died to make this book: can’t you feel their leaves quaking as the pages turn? Death after all is a ravenous muse indeed, the surest to have its plate of muscles and bones. But also its books, art, and music, which death takes from us as we live, that we will outlive ourselves.