»She’d never cared much for fiction, somehow. Something about it made her lightly uncomfortable, perhaps a reminder of the drama in her own life. She liked things (her mind expressed it) that had really happend. Really happened, but long ago and far away, to someone entirely else, someone that never could be confused with herself. In the case of a fictional character, you soon, involuntarily, began identifying yourself with him or her. In the case of a character who had once been an actual living personage, you did not. You sympathized objectively, but it ended there. It was always, from first to last, someone else. Because it had once, in reality, been someone else. (Escape, they would have called this, though in her case it was the reverse of what it was for others. They escaped from humdrum reality into fictional drama. She escaped from too much personal drama into a reality of the past.)«

Cornell Woolrich: I Married A Dead Man – S. 870 – 871

Aus: Cornell Woolrich: I Married A Dead Man . – Enthalten in: Crime Novels: American Noir of the 1930s & 40s . – New York : The Library of America, 1997. – ISBN 978-1-883011-46-8

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Ein Beitrag von Ludger Menke

human since 1966 | librarian since 1992 | dj since 1994 | online editor since 1999 | blogger since 2005 | t.b.c.