The satiric ethos of Mad was a much bigger childhood influence.
I'd been upstaged, demoted from protagonist in my own drama to comic relief in my parents' tragedy
If there was ever a bigger pansy than my father, it was Marcel Proust.
Watching everyone root through their psyche, it just delights me. Especially R. Crumb's stuff.
She has given me a way out.
I just met someone who read Gone With the Wind 62 times for exactly that same reason. She couldn't bear that it wasn't real. She wanted to live in it.