>Must a man of genius be fat or thin? Flesh or fish?
>In truth, I could not imagine a man of genius otherwise: he must be thin. And I would not have accepted a lyric poet weighing more than ninety-nine pounds.
>At the time, I was firmly convinced that genius had to be as thin as a dried herring. I had settled on this with even greater certainty because I myself was not particularly fat at the time.
>Since then, by comparing my theory with reality, I realized that I had been grossly mistaken, as always happens, and I came to formulate this axiom, perfectly antithetical to my first: A man of genius must be fat.
>Yes, the man of genius in the nineteenth century is obese and becomes as large as he is tall: the breed of the thin writer has disappeared, it has become as rare as the breed of King Charles's little dogs. Poets no longer trample the city's mud with soleless boots.
>Men of genius no longer dine as they once did on the smell of rotisseries; they take their meals at tables and on plates that are their own, along with those who serve them. Oh, fabulous progress! Oh, unexpected fortune!

Will the literary genius of the 21st century also be obese?

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>Must a man of genius be fat or thin? Flesh or fish? >In truth, I could not imagine a man of genius otherwise: he must be thin. And I would…

>Must a man of genius be fat or thin? Flesh or fish?
>In truth, I could not imagine a man of genius otherwise: he must be thin. And I would…