An Unnecessary Woman

by Rabih Alameddine

Literature gives me life, and life kills me. Well, life kills everyone.

Political parties may argue, yell and insult, punch and kick each other, launch grenades and missiles; it is naught but Narcissus’s silly gesturing at the pool’s image.

There is none more conformist than one who flaunts his individuality.

I am a reader. Yes, I am that, a reader with nagging back pain.

No nostalgia is felt as keenly as nostalgia for things that never existed.