The Bronx is Up, Right?
Bradley Denton
Some years ago, when one of my books was about to be published in France, the French acquiring editor telephoned me to get acquainted. It was a kind and friendly gesture on his part, and I truly enjoyed our conversation.
But he did ask one question that startled me:
“So,” he said. “Will you be moving to New York any time soon?”
Friends, that threw me for a loop. I couldn’t have been more flummoxed if he’d asked me whether I would be scooping out my brains and scrambling them with my breakfast eggs any time soon.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing but admiration for everyone out there who has lived, is living, or will be living in the city that’s variously known as Gotham . . . Metropolis . . . America’s Downtown . . . The Big Apple . . . and Gateway to Hoboken. New York City is amazing in a million different ways, and I’m in awe of the place and all that it contains.
I absolutely understand why it’s an ideal place for a writer to live, if only for a while.
But as for me: I could no sooner live there, even for a month, than I could eat a tractor tire.
As Dirty Harry once said, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”
I wish I were in New York City tonight, though. Because if I were, I could go to the Tribeca Film Festival to see a documentary film by Fred Barney Taylor entitled THE POLYMATH, OR THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF SAMUEL R. DELANY, GENTLEMAN.
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