Sometimes I go back to The Dead , the story of James Joyce. Sometimes it is to remember a specific passage, or to understand Joyce's relationship with the society of his time; other times it is to remind me of the kid who read that story the first time. In these weeks of hundreds of deaths a day, the reason is different and sadly obvious. There are situations when only literature seems to offer the right words. For example, that verse by another modernist who imagi

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