![]() What’s left but to kill yourself, as the mentor and friend addressed only as “you” by the unnamed narrator of Sigrid Nunez’s The Friend has done (we’re not told how), shortly before the novel opens. You catch a glimpse of your flaccid torso in a full-length hotel room mirror and suddenly understand why. When you manage to wrangle one into the sack, she’s not exactly aswoon with desire. Even calling them “dear” creates complaints. These days they find you a little gross, recoil from your kisses-charges are likely to be brought. Once it was easy to attract young acolytes who followed you around, hanging on your every literary reference. Your theories about the erotics of the classroom sounded more convincing back in the 1980s. ![]() Imagine yourself as a committed shagger of students-it’s your lifeblood! it keeps you vital!-graying out of the charisma you once possessed. These are dark days for aging male seducers, particularly those plying their trade as writing professors. ![]()
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