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were only some kind of compensation to make up for her
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having lost the direct epileptic Word,
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the cry that might abolish the night.
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This is a meditation on both the joy and the loss of literary substitution
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for the real or for the truth,
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the substitution of abstract pattern for something like comprehensible meaning.
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So here, she's kind of enthralled with the idea that these gemlike clues
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that's a very Nabokovian moment
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the gemlike clues that are gathering around her
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would be a compensation for the loss of that real access to revelation.
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And this has this religious sense to it.
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It's not just the religious instant of looking down at San Narciso;