So many of my favorite writers were at some point separated from their place of origin—Nabokov, Sebald, Aciman...Their deep sense of loss is a like a shadow trailing the language at every turn. Paradoxically, the force of their felt desire is the source of the beauty.
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But what is your opinion of his writing, not including his despicable antisemitic rants?
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It's been about 50 years since reading Journey to the End of the Night. Dreary and angry and coursing with anti-Semitism...
End of conversation
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