He’s Greek; hence my little jokes about the necessary relationship (even a philosopher has to eat) between Plato and souvlaki. He doesn’t know who Plato is. As a man of the sea, he’d likely be more interested in Ulysses. I couldn’t care less whether or not he knows who Plato is. I’m just trying to right the balance of power. He’s got me with money; I’ve got him with the mind. The fact that I know Plato doesn’t help me in any way whatsoever in our weekly confrontations. They come around much too fast. I’m supposed to pay the rent every Thursday, which I do at exactly ten minutes before midnight. That’s still Thursday, as far as I can tell. Then I settle in with Tolstoy in the bathtub. Only a guy on unemployment who’s paid his rent can read War and Peace without skipping any of the descriptions of the landscape. I’d add to this short list of marathon readers the secretaries who plough through Stephen King’s massive bricks with shawls around their shoulders because of the Arctic cold that reigns in the downtown office towers.
What do You think about I Am A Japanese Writer (2010)?
