I think the form of the novel– the largest level– is really manifesting.  It’s sort of echo, or shadow– it’s kinds of doubles, but the relationship between the doubles is in consistent and evolving motion.  The characters are in pairs, they follow each other, or spy, or exist in conscious comparative relation.  One of them when he launches into a story he always tells one story to tell another- but the “another” is stated, never told.  I am also starting to be able to chuck the anxious aspects of the collaging that has been bothering me.  Not totally chuck, but let the bottom fall out so there’s just this layer of it sometimes.  I want this sense of roiling underneath everything, that the story is like oil swirling on an ocean filled with animals we will never understand because they are too much.  That is not Hemingway’s iceberg.  It’s related, but it is totally not his iceberg.

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