What things we do, he whispered in shame, such shame, what things we men do. Across the great clutch of history there lay in every corner cinders of some chauvinist sacrament. All will be rent to ruin beneath our banners, he thought.
“Often it’s only when you tell something that you come to see its true shape. I believe this to be one of life’s great lessons. Thus nightly I narrate my story to the generations of kinfolk gathered around my hearth — really a hot-plate and the TV with the sound turned down.”
Edmond Caldwell