the involuted author

Why did Joyce write this line?

Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do you know? Why do you write it then?

It has stuck in my mental craw like crab meat. When done well it reminds me of an actor’s come-hither look straight down the lens. The voyeuristic pact is broken, but something else happens. Viewing becomes more intimate. The author/narrator, the work of fiction and the reader curl into each other in a ménage à trois elevating the reading experience.

I like crab meat.

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