Mallarme and the book. (P.S. – I love Mallarme. I got very offended when, listening to a performance of Debussy’s score for Mallarme’s L’apre midi d’un faun, one of the musicians, a guitarist, the piece having been arranged for guitar and flute, said no one cared about the poem anymore. Then, we saw an exhibit of materials from the Ballet Russe at the National Gallery of Art. Of course, one of their famous pieces, staying none other than Ninjinsky, was that same Debussy piece. So Mallarme is awesome. Read his poetry.)

Proust’s simple plots.

Scholar, theorist, deconstructionist, conman. But that last one doesn’t actually have much to do with the validity of the first three. Even if it does make him icky.

Sixty years, man. Sixty years. Rock on, Dissent!

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