![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Thomas Glahn, is living alone in a forest hut on a wilderness island. A few weeks later, at sea, standing uncertainly on quivering legs, with many hours of little or nothing to do aboard-the steward had warned me to stay out of sight when not with a mop in my hands, and to work slower, by God, on this unionized ship-I find the paperback at the bottom of my duffel. One is Pan, by the Norwegian Knut Hamsun (1859–1952), someone heretofore unknown to me. It worked for Melville, for Richard Henry Dana, for Jack London … I get a berth on a ship out of Oakland, and in the two weeks before we sail I go the rounds of my scruffy friends, hinting at dangers to come for the daring young adventurer.Ī guy in a bookstore in Palo Alto recommends some books to take along. I’m living in Berkeley, my impersonation of a graduate student in history falling apart. ![]()
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