“The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed.”
—James Joyce, from “Araby,” Dubliners (1914)
I was exactly like this narrator when I was a boy: prone to crushes that I could not express, confounded by religious symbolism, frustrated by the adults in my life, and Irish in the lyrical sense.*
*I love this sentence so much, I appropriated a portion of it in my novel Without Wax: “We fucked until we glowed.”
William Walsh is the author of Forty-Four American Boys, Stephen King Stephen King, Unknown Arts, Ampersand, Mass., Pathologies, Questionstruck, and Without Wax. His work has appeared in a number of journals, including Quarterly West, New York Tyrant, and McSweeney's Internet Tendency. He is the editor of RE:Telling.