Chapter 21

“This is yours?” I said. He nodded. “Why am I not surprised?”

He shook his head slowly, in infinite condescension. “It’s art!” he said.

I nodded wearily. “Yeah, yeah. I know. And art’s supposed to generate an emotional reaction.”

“You shuddered, didn’t you? Twice.”

I frowned, a resentment growing inside me. This was an old battleground for us. Glendon’s view that art was the most important thing in life, infinitely excusing virtually anything, no matter how outrageous or offensive, was something I disagreed with rather intensely. Once he had visited my research lab. He’d picked up a piece of circuit-board, put it to his chest, and said, “This would make a greatbroach!” I had been deeply offended. Functionality, in Glendon’s book, seemed not only beside the point, but vaguely obscene or wrong.

I looked at several of the other cards in the deck, but now self-conscious, suppressed any visible reaction. After about the fifth I pushed the rest away.