a slow decent into emotional isolation, both profound and raw, quiet and subtle. opens up the scars of loneliness and guilt. some of the most beautiful writing i’ve experienced, a fictional time capsule i feel i’ve lived and breathed in.

exhibit a:
“paris is old, is many centuries. you feel, in paris, all the time gone by. that isn’t what you feel in new york-

what do you feel in new york?

perhaps you feel all the time to come.”

aside from incredibly vivid descriptions, the attention to the complexities and dimensions of each character is impeccable. i could say a million things about this but the main point is that james baldwin understands and beautifully exemplifies the art of literature with this piece of writing.