"There
are ashes before which
Granite
turns to dust"
-- Marina Tsvetayeva
The
night Sacco and Vanzetti were executed, Herbst was in an Italian restaurant in
Portland, Maine, listening to the radio for the news, which everyone knew would
not be good. At midnight the announcer said the prison would go dark, the lights
would go out, if the two men were executed in the electric chair. A few minutes
later, the Italian who ran the restaurant began to close up but hesitated for a
moment to turn off the light switch. "Electricity," he said to Herbst,
"It that what it's for? Is that the thing to do?" In the Thirties the
writer asked himself the same question, somewhat differently. Writing? What is
it for?
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