It's the middle of the night; that time of the day when I'm at my neurotic best, churning sentence after sentence in a proposal that has ceased to make sense. And clearly, I need to be stealing words to make up for inexcusable paucity of intellectual worth. So here goes...
There are still too many "adolescents who find pleasure in raping the fresh cadavers of beautiful, dead women" (Lautrémont), who do not take into account that it would be more marvelous to rape them alive.
- Alejo Carpentier (On the Marvelous Real in America, 1949)
And no, this is not yet misogyny and no, it is not yet, grotesquely anti-feminist. And yes, it could be all of those things. But right now, it is Carpentier lamenting the imitators of the 'real' magic realists...and wondering if the ones who can't see, think of those who can.