“I recognise you’ve got mixed emotions about this. You want transcendence, so long as you return consolidated.
Look what’s happened to me. I’ve lost the narrative drive.”
He took avantage. For him, narrative was always too comfortable. The reader was seduced, immersed in the text.
Consuming character in a narrative was masturbation. Short and sweet, without being disturbed by difficulty.
Distrust words strung together with an obvious flow. The bourgeoisie demands texts which always engorge and come to a climax. They need plot, character, sentiment and pleasure.
It wasn’t art. It was escapism. It was reading in the missionary position.