In this business, reading MH, one takes a lot on faith. Mainly, one
labors thru mountains of the most tortured impressionistic verbiage
piously seeking the ontological mother lode, only to maybe achieve
the proverbial ridiculous mouse of an insight. And, at the same time,
one is conscious of the author's Nazism and now his screwing one of
his grad student groupies, both of which, for all our sophisticated
extenuating, can never be other than immoral, tasteless and stupid.
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