Penny Boxall – How Writing Changes The Writer

I was relieved to find myself, in this hopeless longing for the inanimate, in the company of Nabokov. I find myself, in this hopeless longing for the inanimate, in the company of Nabokov, who, target shooting at a fair, won a porcelain pig. He writes: ‘I abandoned it on the shelf at the hotel when I left town. In doing so, I condemned myself to remember it’.

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