Our photo reporter managed to get a shot of the extremely shy . . .

A CAREER OVER THE BROKEN HEART OF CARRIER?

Movie starlet B accompanied by Nadine’s previous steady beau:—

leaving the Zoum Zoum nightclub in Cannes—

—skiing in Cortina d’Ampezzo—

—shopping on Zurich’s Bahnhofstrasse—

—shooting on location for her movie Till the Seventh Member (scripted by A) in Munich-Geiselgasteig—

—on the beach at Marbella—

—by the swimming pool of her villa on Lake Schlier (Lake Tegern, Lake Constance, Lake Wörther, Lake Como)—

STARLET’S ESCORT KNOCKS DOWN PHOTO REPORTER!

Upon leaving, on again, off again escort brutally attacked our. . .

IS THIS THE END?

Her tense face since her separation from her previous and now steady shows all too clearly that . . .

NEW LOVE FOR NADINE CARRIER!

We managed to get this unique snapshot—

—upon leaving the—

—while skiing in—

—when shopping at—

—on location at—

—on the beach at—

—during the annual—

—in the verdant countryside of—

IS NADINE CARRIER ABOUT TO WED

—racing-car stable-owner C?

—coiffure creator D?

—breaststroke champion E?

—sociologist F?

—playboy G?

???

??

?

(Read our next installment, #40)

I, for my part, would merely have shortened the path to contemporary immortality.

For assuming I didn’t eat humble pie this time, sparing Nadine and myself a joint pulp romance, remaining here in my hideout, beating down all my weaknesses, difficulties, afflictions, and reservations; feeding on wheat germ and yeast; standing on my head for six minutes every morning to circulate the blood through my brain; and slaving away with Aunt Selma’s tenacity in this cell of godforsaken human loneliness until I finished my book (and it would indeed be a book that bore witness, before the conscience of our race, to being a human being in this era—and God would be in it as he is in Nagel’s best sellers)—what would be the happy end of this poignant story?

•

Let Scherping take the floor:

•

“Damn it, it’s not so important what a man writes. People want to know how he brought it about. What does the guy who fabricated this stuff look like? What makes him different from me, what is there about him that he can pull himself out in this (profitable!) way from the dismal affair of TAEDIUM VITAE? You’ve got to understand the poor souls who are so bitterly dependent on vicarious experiences. They don’t want to hear any more old wives’ tales. People aren’t interested in stories, people are interested in existence—you understand? Do you seriously believe that anyone today has any interest whatsoever in Ulysses’ adventures? As a book for young readers, maybe. But if you can come up with a book that scientifically demonstrates: WHO WAS HOMER?, it’ll be on the best-seller list months before it even comes out. Take my word for it—after all, I serve experience to people—values have shifted. Anyone who wants stories goes to a flick or sits in front of the tube or scans the funnies. Today’s book reader is a literary scholar—above all, a psychologist. He wants an analysis not only of the book but of the author—personal, flesh and blood: shaving early in the morning, creating, having sex (marital and adulterous), and, if possible, folding his hands for his nightly prayers. The reader wants to know: what induced this man to write this book in this way? The educated reader wants to get to the root of the literary: the dichotomous, the suspicious, the crack in the author’s personality. He wants accurate information: what was Shakespeare’s real name? how schizoid was Goethe? how queer was Proust? how good was Hemingway with handguns? And so on and so forth . . . The masses—the masses are adequately served by a hundred thousand publications. But in literature, they now go very personally into everything: color of eyes, shape of nose, cut of hair, and distinguishing characteristics. The literature you create is, so to speak, your own ‘wanted’ poster. Only then are you recognizable. Only then does the public retain your physiognomy. That’s how you achieve prominence and get into the newspapers.”