
Credits
The essays in A Plea for Eros about writing, writers, and how author Siri Hustvedt's childhood was way more sepia-toned than yours are cloistered, academic affairs that presuppose a kind of sterile affection for Henry James, Charles Dickens, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and loosey-goosey psychoanalysis (''In my waking life, I'm a woman, but sometimes in my dreams I'm a man''). Only one stands out: a piece originally written for London's Observer, ''9/11, or One Year Later.'' Its trepidatious, fractured tone is so striking that when, in her final essay, Hustvedt writes, ''I am afraid of writing, too, because when I write, I am always moving toward the unarticulated, the dangerous, the place where the walls don't hold'' you wonder what could happen if she let go of that fear. Not to psychoanalyze or anything.

Home



