A Brief Alternate Version of
The Diamond Age:
Or, a Young Lady’s
Illustrated Primer
Piper Laurie is 75.
For Piper Laurie
on her birthday
(again):
“He was part of my dream, of course–
but then I was part of his dream, too!”
— Lewis Carroll,
Through the Looking Glass
Chapter XII (“Which Dreamed It?”)
He looked at her face. She was very drunk. Her eyes were swollen, pink at the corners. “What’s the book?” he said, trying to make his voice conversational. But it sounded loud in the room, and hard.
She blinked up at him, smiled sleepily, and said nothing.
“What’s the book?” His voice had an edge now.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s Kierkegaard. Soren Kierkegaard.” She pushed her legs out straight on the couch, stretching her feet. Her skirt fell back a few inches from her knees. He looked away.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Well, I don’t exactly know, myself.” Her voice was soft and thick.
He turned his face away from her again, not knowing what he was angry with. “What does that mean, you don’t know, yourself?”
She blinked at him. “It means, Eddie, that I don’t exactly know what the book is about. Somebody told me to read it, once, and that’s what I’m doing. Reading it.”
She blinked up at him, smiled sleepily, and said nothing.
“What’s the book?” His voice had an edge now.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s Kierkegaard. Soren Kierkegaard.” She pushed her legs out straight on the couch, stretching her feet. Her skirt fell back a few inches from her knees. He looked away.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Well, I don’t exactly know, myself.” Her voice was soft and thick.
He turned his face away from her again, not knowing what he was angry with. “What does that mean, you don’t know, yourself?”
She blinked at him. “It means, Eddie, that I don’t exactly know what the book is about. Somebody told me to read it, once, and that’s what I’m doing. Reading it.”
— Walter Tevis, The Hustler