Winter 1947 • Vol. IX No. 1 Fiction |

The Psychiatrist’s Story

I belong to a kind of club or association consisting of men more or less eminent in the various arts or professions. It was founded nearly a hundred years ago, so the club-book tells us, by 'a hundred gentlemen of New York engaged or interested in the arts and sciences." There is a long table at which one is placed by the waiter if one comes in alone for lunch or dinner. These chance meetings with people one does not know—for the club has grown to considerably more than the original hundred—are fine for everybody. General conversation at the long table or, for that matter, casual encounters with fellow literates in the lounge afford an agreeable opportunity for a salutary exchange of ideas, or at least for exercise in audible grammatical soliloquy, or, more often, discipline in the art of patient listening. At various times I have learned a good deal at this club, if sometimes not much more than the personal exploits of fishing or golf or textual criticism of some of my fellow m

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Pictorial Tragedy

By Louis Graff

I belong to a kind of club or association consisting of men more or less eminent in the various arts or professions. It was founded nearly a hundred years ago, […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.