Surely all great writers explain us to ourselves in the last analysis, isn’t that why we read them? DNA wrote quite profoundly in language which generally avoided being “literary” but so did Pushkin and Joseph Heller. (I’m not sure about Queneau, even after more than forty years since I first read Zazie dans le Métro, and then the rest of his books, I don’t know whether he was a profound analyst of the human condition or a bit of a fraud.)
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