The Idiot

by Elif Batuman

Light from even a nearby star was four years old by the time it reached your eyes. Where would I be in four years? Simple: where you are. In four years I’ll have reached you.

I expected the crypt to be dark and gloomy, but it was pale and light, with yellow vaulted ceilings and archways, so maybe death would be that way, too.

Beautiful people lived in a different world, had different relations with people. From the beginning they were raised for love.