Read The Narrow Door for Free Online

the woods, down the mountain into town.
    Already the director of the Famous Writers Conference might be making sure Denise is never asked back. At least that’s the way she’ll tell it to me for years.
    The same argument, transmuted, is central to her second novel. An entire book travels toward that confrontation, but there are no emphatic hands, no passersby. The scene doesn’t take place in New England, but in a Manhattan apartment, in a different Famous Writer’s apartment. The two lovers—or lovers who never were—don’t even yell. Their feelings are too big for yelling; language can’t contain even them. Indirection, withholding, silence, pause: all of that hurts more. But Emily, the central character, will not be humiliated, will not be a victim to her own wanting. The exchange, as devastating as it is, brings about satisfaction and peace. Not instantaneously, but in a little while, after the death of Emily’s mother in a bus accident. The important thing is this: A boundary is drawn. Fame is on the left side of the room, the Manhattan side of the room. And she is here.
    And life might just be possible after that.
    2009 |  My devotion is dog-like, I know it. I like looking at the tops of M’s ears, which stick out fetchingly from the sides of his head. Blue transparent eyes, trimmed whiskers around the strong and subtle mouth. But it’s his cerebral side that captivates my attention. Remoteness, austerity, mystery—I catch myself fixing on him, for minutes at a time, from the Eames chair across the living room. I wonder, what, what gears are turning inside his head? What are his plans? I only take my eyes off him when he catches me looking.
    And yet, more often than not, there’s been some powerful exchange of psychic materials between us. M and I catch ourselves putting on the same style of jeans at the same time—one of us must change; we don’t want to be that kind of couple. We have the same perceptions at the same time. I bring up Michael and Luis just as M professes to think about Michael and Luis. How has their renovation been going in Hell’s Kitchen? It’s been unnerving, profound, though we laugh about it, this connection. No wonder strangers are always wondering whether we’re twins. If we wanted to, we could wear each other’s clothes.

Animal
    1967 |  A thick breeze blows off Newport Bay; the breeze smells of seaweed and salt and boat engine. It cools the arms and necks of the throng in front of the stage, but not enough. Joni Mitchell is down among the crowd. She still feels good about the set she just played, but the day hasn’t been the best. Judy Collins, who was supposed to pick her up at her building on West Sixteenth, called her up from the festival to say, I’m already here. Competition once again: isn’t Judy the one who sells all the records? So Joni had to find another way to get there, and walked up to the stage, still out of breath, just minutes after her arrival.
    She eases through the throng with Elliot Roberts, her manager, at her side. Some people smile at her; she half-smiles back. The people are careful to give her some space, and besides, their eyes are turned to the new act on stage. She is looking to find the bathroom, or at least some water to drink. It has been so long since she’s had anything to drink. Her throat is grainy, muddy. The air temperature is actually rising minute by minute, and there’s no space between bodies. It is beautiful to be down here with the people—she knows that—but it is all a little much.
    Are you Joni Mitchell? says a young woman.
    The girl’s voice is sweet; it couldn’t be further from unkind. Her face is innocent, if there could be such a thing as innocent. It’s the kind of face she’d want to sit down and meet if she were anywhere else. But its intensity strikes silence into Joni’s nerves. The need in her has nothing to do with Joni. The face doesn’t exactly want to devour her—it’s nothing as extreme as all