There’s a scene in The Wagon, Martin Preib’s recent and remarkable collection of essays, where he describes pulling over to the side of the road to scribble down a note, deep in conversation about the work of Walt Whitman, about what that work accomplished and how. “My terms are useless: realism, religion, conviction,” Preib says, describing the scene. “I pull the car to the side of Devon, along a no-parking lane. I write the terms on yet another scrap of paper. ‘Do they go together? Can a sign of the right realism be that it leads to this religion?’”
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