By Eugene Ulrich
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AGE OF REitfSON half I it's been my purpose, for numerous years earlier, to post my recommendations upon faith. i'm good conscious of the problems that attend the topic, and from that attention, had reserved it to a extra complex interval of existence. T meant it to be the final providing I may still make to my fellow-citizens of all countries, and that at a time while the purity of the purpose that prompted me to it, couldn't admit of a query, even by means of those that may well disapprove the paintings.
A riotous, bitingly humorous, and supremely shrewdpermanent novel from one in all our such a lot detailed voices within the English language. The yr is 1970, and Keith Nearing, a twenty-year-old literature scholar, is spending his summer time holiday in a fortress on a mountainside in Italy. The Sexual Revolution is in full-swing—a old second of exceptional opportunity—and Keith and his neighbors are instantly stuck up in its chaotic, ecstatic throes.
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Extra info for From Literature to Scripture: Reflections on the Growth of a Text's Authoritativeness
I shall have to raise my consciousness of life outside to so high a point that it would amount to a crime against my personal life. as for my prior profound morality, for me to discover that I am as crudely alive as that bare light that I learned of yesterday, as for that morality of mine, the harsh glory of being alive is horror itself. I lived before of a humanized world; did the simply alive destroy the morality that I had then? A world wholly alive has a Hellish power. A world wholly alive has a Hellish power.
A paradise that I don't want! During the time I'm writing and speaking, I'm going to have to pretend that someone is holding my hand. Oh, at least at the beginning . . only at the beginning. As soon as I can do without it, I'll go on alone. even if I can't picture your face and your eyes and your mouth. But even though it is cut off from a body, this hand doesn't scare me. Its creation comes from an idea of love such that it is as if the hand were really attached to a body, and if I don't see it it's because I am unable to love more.
My foresight closed the world to me. Until, for a few hours, I stopped. And, my God, I got what I didn't want. I had always imagined that discovery would be fertile and humid, like river valleys. I never thought it would be the immense disencounter that it was. Is my sacrifice for continuing to be human just forgetting? I shall now be able to recognize in the common faces of some people that. . that they have forgotten. And that they no longer know that they have forgotten what they have forgotten.