“The interviewer wishes to visit me. He wishes to see my pencil poised above the page, my painted lampshade, my bookshelves, my old white borzoi asleep at my feet. He feels he needs the background music of bogus informality, and as many colorful details as can be memorized, if not actually jotted down (‘N. gulped down his vodka and quipped with a grin—’). Have I the heart to cancel the coziness? I have.”