In Myths Things Always Turn Into Their

In Myths Things Always Turn Into Their Opposites As One Version Supersedes The Next.

A Poet Is Wounded Into Speech, And He Examines These Wounds, Meticulously, To Discover How To Heal Them. The Bad Poet Harangues At The Pain And Yowls At The Weapons That Lacerate Him; The Great Poet Explores The Inflamed Lips Of Ruined Flesh With Ice-caked Fingers, Glittering And Precise; But Ultimately His Poem Is The Echoing, Dual Voice Reporting The Damages.

There Is A Sense Of Decency That's Like A Barometer To A Man's Or A Country's Health.

A Number Of Things In Dhalgren Are Just Meant To Function As Mysteries. They're Mysteries When The Book Begins, And They're Mysteries When The Book Ends.

Historically, I Guess That's How Science Fiction Works: You Start By Using Aliens To Think The Unthinkable — And Then, Eventually, Another Writer, Having Grown A Little More Comfortable With The Earlier Notion, Brings It Into The Human.