A friend who writes better than me told me she likes My Secret History so I decided to check it out.

Paul Theroux writes disgustingly well. I hate him I envy him I’m jealous of him.

Here’s how he described a first sexual encounter:

We had gone there alone and ignorant, and lay stupidly under the trees; but now we know a little more. I could not tell where my flesh ended and hers began.

Wickedness entered me. My sould darkened and I felt a shameful thrill as it tottered and began to fall. It caught fire, and Tina was crying softly but holding me, and then we were both burning.

Damn.