I was visiting a museum with a friend of mine. Somehow we started talking about Eastern European playwrights. She mentioned she had once acted in a Gombrowicz play. I got all excited; “He’s my favorite writer!” I said.

She asked why.

I stammered. A million confused impressions simultaneously clamored for mouthspace and got bunched up in a ball in my mouth. Why did I like Gombrowicz so much?

I grimaced, made some contorted gesture, lamely miming the unspeakable awesomeness of the Polish writer, and ended up muttering some pretentious nonsense and quickly changing the subject.

I’m as bad talking about Gombrowicz as I am talking about my feelings.

So I decided I should write about my feelings about Gombrowicz.