But the transport of a novel, the false awareness of being within another time,place and life that was the pleasure of reading, for her, was not possible. Shewas in another time, place, consciousness; it pressed in upon her and filled her as someone’s breath fills a balloon’s shape. She was already not what she was. No fiction could compete with what she was finding she did not know, could not have imagined or discovered through imagination.
-Nadine Gordimer
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