He saw her running in the women’s race, her arms close to her sides. She was among the stragglers and stopped and walked off the field, laughing and wiping her face and throat with a handkerchief of the same material as her silk summer dress. Leventhal was standing near her brother. She came up to them and said, “Well, I used to be able to run when I was smaller.” That she was still not accustomed to thinking of herself as a woman, and a beautiful woman, made Leventhal feel very tender toward her. She was in his mind when he watched the contestants in the three-legged race hobbling over the meadow. He noticed one in particular, a man with red hair who struggled forward, angry with his partner, as though the race were a pain and a humiliation which he could wipe out only by winning. “What a difference,” Leventhal said to himself. “What a difference in people.”
---From Saul Bellow’s The Victim
Cited as an example of the way literature ought to read, from this wholesale teardown of the modern literary establishment, circa 2002. What is it now? 2009? Yeah, I keep up with the times.
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200107/myers
