Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Personae
- I: Early Days
- One. Control
- Two. Doubt
- Three. Fate
- Four. Same
- Five. Fine Arts
- Six. In Loco Parentis
- Seven. Settling
- Eight. Neighbors
- Nine. Prospects
- Ten. The Lucky
- Eleven. Instruction
- Twelve. Same
- Thirteen. This Is a Pipe
- Fourteen. This Is Not a Pipe
- Fifteen. The Reason
- Sixteen. That Person
- Seventeen. Predictably
- II: Writing Teacher
- Eighteen. Early Poems
- Nineteen. Motivation
- Twenty. Allegory
- Twenty-One. Grief
- Twenty-Two. A Portrait
- Twenty-Three. Veils
- Twenty-Four. Soft Power
- Twenty-Five. Lists
- Twenty-Six. A Break
- Twenty-Seven. Elsewhere
- Twenty-Eight. Custom
- Twenty-Nine. Parity
- Thirty. Fortune
- III: Volta
- Thirty-One. Images
- Thirty-Two. A Very Interesting Young Man
- Thirty-Three. Letters
- Thirty-Four. We Prefer to See Ourselves Living
- Thirty-Five. Love
- Thirty-Six. The Iceberg
- IV: Your Best Reader
- Thirty-Seven. A Novelist
- Thirty-Eight. In Advance of the Broken Arm
- Thirty-Nine. Their Penultimate Encounter
- Forty. Détente
- Forty-One. Worlds
- Forty-Two. Recognition
- Forty-Three. Persistence
- Forty-Four. And Then
- Forty-Five. Mingling
- Forty-Six. You
- Forty-Seven. Persona
- Forty-Eight. Est et Non
- Forty-Nine. The Author
- Epilogue
- Afterword: The Libertine
- Acknowledgments
- About the Authors
Once his breathing has slowed Beans decides to risk it. He is crouching, facing the building. Slowly, cautiously, Beans raises his eyes above the sill.
In the room before him, someone in a baggy black T-shirt is hunched over a card table. Beans gazes. Beans stares. The person is writing. Beans strains his ears and can hear dull scratches of a pen, an occasional labored breath. The person is not Loudermilk.
Anton Beans cannot believe his luck.
III: Volta
III
VOLTA
Thirty-One. Images
Thirty-One
Images
Clare Elwil has not returned to New York for the holiday interregnum. Instead, she remains in furnished midwestern rooms, combing over the past. She has come to the conclusion that—but she pauses, midtrain. It is 11:00 a.m. For the moment, Clare ignores the day of the week, the date. The sky is white, edged with orange. Clare is in bed, testing her senses with the cold against her exposed face, the chill end of her nose. The radiator whispers. Is it OK to not be working?