Exhibit 1.6.1

John Barth

Stepping from the treacherous passage at last into the mirror-maze, he saw once again, more clearly than ever, how readily he deceived himself into supposing he was a person. He even foresaw, wincing at his dreadful self-knowledge, that he would repeat the deception, at ever-rarer intervals, all his wretched life, so fearful were the alternatives. Fame, madness, suicide; perhaps all three.

From "Lost in the Funhouse"

1 comment:

A. Peterson said...

By the way, this story is maybe the best künstlerroman of the last however many years. It's somehow a metafictional jerk around, a story of adolescent disappointment, and a harrowing acknowledgment of who the main character--a Barth stand-in--will and will not be.

Maybe it's just having read nonstop for the last two weeks, but I'm less amused by some of Barth's games this time around. This story though. Still a killer.