But I guess he just got his ass kicked once too often; a man finally bends and breaks and loses that little touch . . . great Art is pure ranting in a golden cage. Here Celine just rather throws spoiled apples at us and bits of snot. Still, on the other hand, if Castle had been written by anybody but Celine, I would have said, “Say here, look, this isn’t bad at all!” But it’s like with Beiles—you compare only the best to the best. You can’t help it. Once a man has leaped 18 feet straight up into the air and then comes back and only leaps 13 feet, it’s just not enough for us.
