“HAVE I SPOKEN TOO LOUDLY? HAVE I RAISED my voice? Have I taken a tone? Have I transgressed my station in life as chaos assigned it to me, to always exist just above a whisper? Would I have just gone on never living beyond the sound of my own voice, if I hadn’t rescued Jenna’s copy of Gorky from the gutter on Central Park West that spring day in, what, 1975? … I was nineteen. Eighteen. Don’t even remember what I was doing in the city but there I was, and when I picked up the book that slipped fr...om her arms, she gave me as radiant a smile as I was ever going to get from her. Jenna was a card-carrying Stalinist, an exotic and preposterous bird even in the zoo of the Seventies … now, of course, when I think about her at all, which isn’t much, I realize that—dialectical materialism being what it was—the odds of Jenna giving herself to me were always exactly zero. But I didn’t know that. I was historically naive, as she would have been the first to tell you or me or anyone else.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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