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It is certainly odd, the interest we have in the lives of writers. We might suppose that of all people they'd be the last we would need to be curious about—those of them who are real writers, anyway. Because isn't a real writer precisely one whose work is more interesting than he is? Whereas, about failed or unfulfilled or merely casual writers, don't we feel, if we know about them, that they never managed to get their most genuine experience into words, and so as men they may often seem to be better—dceper, more complicated, more necessary—than what they write.
Review, 2715 words
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