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- Offensive.
- One is offensive, the other’s conceited, the third’s crude, the fourth’s borderline, the fifth’s too much, what’s left in the end? Go on, tell me.
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hell. Conversely, like a swimmer who in the lead up to an upcoming competition will avoid flippers, he steered well away from essays, especially if they had something to do with his book’s subject. Resisting the temptation to copy their ideas was pure hardship. It would have been just as bad as reading Freud before starting psychoanalysis.
Yet, whomever and whatever he’d read, their influ-ence, whichever that may be, either exercised through aping and parroting or through taking to its heels and sending it packing, would be prominently imprinted in his work, which could then be divided into sepa-rate periods, long or short. We can then speculate that, for example, he had spent the summer of 20… in the company of The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer, Philosophy in the Bedroom by Marquis de Sade, Druuna: Morbus Gravis by Serpier, Click by Milo Manara, Ta Kamakia (The serial daters) by Vassilis Vassilikos and Notes of a Dirty Old Man, Volumes I and II by Bukowski.
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Chapter 17
In the meantime, the characters kept piling up on his computer’s hard drive. He had successfully reached 150,000. That alone he considered to be the first victory for a novel that was not swarming with characters (es-sentially everything revolved around only one person).
As a second victory, that by not giving up, despite the first few adversities, he was showing, if nothing else, a lot of character.
The third was when, re-reading his text, it seemed to be, to put it mildly, characterless, a ‘dud’. Less of a dud than he claimed it was, first to himself and then to his few friends (to whom, in a moment of weakness, it had slipped out that he was writing, and who would one day inevitably ask for a writing sample), but even so a dud.
A fourth, therefore, was that, if there was something that he was proud of, it was that he was not proud of it at all.
Just as well, because if by chance it had seemed even slightly good to him then, like parents who permanent-ly sing their offspring’s praises, he would be oblivious
That’s it, you’ve contracted the wordplay bug which unfortunately is as curable as herpes zoster.
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to his text’s evils
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