—–

Romain Gary said:

“Reality is not an inspiration for literature. At its best, literature is an inspiration for reality.”

I think that’s the reason that most great writers are so obstinately fearful of analysts. Imagine writing your own fragmented existence.

—–

—–

Romain Gary won the Prix Goncourt twice though it was meant to only be given out once to per lifetime, per any given French author. He had his nephew accept the honor on behalf of his pseudonym. He fell into an amorous and incendiary love affair with a woman who later became his second wife – American actress Jean Seberg. Their relationship lasted through an eight year tumultuous marriage, which was both psychologically and physically abusive. They separated and she moved back to the US – where she was hounded by Hoover’s FBI for her strident advocacy of Civil Rights until eventually she took her life on August 30^th, 1979 with a combination alcohol and barbiturates: “Forgive me. I can no longer live with my nerves.” Less than a year and a half later, on December 2^nd, 1980 Gary took his own life through a self-inflicted gunshot wound: (adamant in his suicide note) pointlessly promising to a constantly judging world that his death had nothing to do with Seberg’s death. Love is volatile and loneliness is merciless.

—–

—–

[Now, here's a pertinent poem from the manuscript:]

—–

You are the reflection in my coffee

You are the venom in my blood

You are the darkness building underneath my weary eyes

You are the promise of forgiveness

—–

There would be nothing but you if you wanted to be

You are the everything important that never dies

You are the blurb on Jean Seberg and Romain Gary

You are the morning newspaper left on a subway bench for further reading

You are natural progression;

An arpeggio, but not a full concerto –

You have no need for a conductor.

—–

You are the woman in the rain

You are the story I was writing

You are the one that is never finished

You are the definition becoming cliché

—–

—–