Thursday February 20, 2020

Open Secret

I'm seeing things words; John Irving's words flowing out of his mouth and onto an imaginary piece of paper.

3rd September, 2005

We're in Dublin, but he's also somewhere in the past. His voice is a rhythmic New England drawl. On my make-believe page I insert dashes, brackets, semi-colons, comma after comma after comma.

This is perilously close to interview-as-therapy. And I'm hardly qualified to respond.

“A lot of people think that John Irving novels are extremely farfetched,” Irving says. “Well, I had the kind of life that is far-fetched.”

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