Na Baltusa trafiłam czytając kilka dni temu "The Dying Animal" by Philip Roth. Gdzieś się przewinęło w tekście nieznane mi nazwisko i bum-kolejne malarskie olśnienie.
"A little thing, maybe five foot one, and she pulled off her sweater and showed me her tits, revealing the adolescent torso of an incipiently transgressive Balthus virgin, and of course we slept together. All evening long, much like a young girl escaped from the perilous melodrama of a Balthus painting into the fun of the class party, Miranda had been on all fours on the floor with her rump raised or lying helplessly prostrate on my sofa or lounging gleefully across the arms of an easy chair seemingly oblivious of the fact that with her skirt riding up her thighs and her legs undecorously parted she had the Balthusian air of being half undressed while fully clothed."
"The Dying Animal" by Philip Roth
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