I had an epiphany that lonely afternoon after playing Schumann.

I came to see that day that everything besides my

fantasies is useless. Even my desperate existential thoughts, which do

nothing but frighten me. For me only the imaginary counts.

In one of my flights of fancy I created a

story about a family, a large family, out of which

diverse but related stories, emerged. The family was Iranian and

Jewish and the setting was contemporary. The stories I imagined

paralleled my recollection of historical events just as Homer’s

was a parallel for Joyce when he was writing Ulysses.

Paraphrases from the story collection The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios by Yann Martel.