But this added development (I took it almost like an insult) was a further intrusion in which unreality dared to comment upon life; where Art refused to stay where it belonged (if this was Art of a most peculiar nature), and began a concerted program of entry into normal reality. The characters were becoming real, turning on their creator and daring to examine his abilities and characteristics. I looked at these latest developments in this way for some time, even though I realized that the premise wasn’t acceptable to begin with, since to all intents and purposes I wasn’t writing the book, but only taking down its dictation. Did that mean that whoever was originating it felt quite safe in dissecting my character, as I might feel in, say, examining the characteristics of a laboratory animal?

As far as Will’s near disastrous motorcycle ride is concerned, of course I was somewhat anxious and carried along by the suspense, as anyone is, even when just reading such adventurous passages in any book. If I was relieved at the end, surely my reaction was no more than natural. In that regard, I am sure that my “identification” with Will was over-exaggerated by Cyprus and Seven in those passages where they refer to it. It’s highly unlikely that they know me better than I know myself, for example. Though we all have a few suicidal thoughts in our lives, I’ve been no more given to them than anyone else.

In any case, whenever you read in “Education” any references to myself, you can pretty well imagine my own invisible reactions. For one thing, while writing down the script, I had no way of retorting to any such passages, of explaining my thoughts, or, in short, of speaking back. I was only barely aware of what I was writing to start with and didn’t even realize that I was being mentioned until I read the material over. It was impossible for me to insert any comments into the script, even later. In the craziest fashion, my reactions didn’t or wouldn’t fit. My own sentences literally could not be inserted into the book itself. It was almost as if two different kinds of order were involved that could coexist, but not … mix. This further added to my anger, of course. If they could insert themselves so smugly into my reality and arrange for me to write their book, then why couldn’t I at least report my own reactions within the script itself? Since I obviously cannot, however, these notes are really my parallel statements; the other side or my side of their book or world, if you prefer; the one in which the laboratory animals keep their own reports.