CARNIVAL

And if he asked himself what it all came to, what the total was, it would seem to add up to nothing, just as it divided down to nothing when you asked yourself what it had all come from, what the bits were; though you knew perfectly well, somewhere in you, that you could prove that wasn't so if you could remember what your conscious had been saying when it was your unconscious -- "" Very well, this might be Barry Fleming writing his own epitaph for Carnival. Writing it in terms of a nightmare of a dream induced by a narcotic, a mad whirl of carnival characters, shifting panorama of grotesque figures and scenes, merry-go-rounds and Ferris wheels, barkers and acrobats and shooting galleries and pretty girls and Fun Palaces with mirrors that distorted and recurrently half familiar figures -- and first and last the clown in the striped costume that carried death....Read into it your own symbolism. It left this reader baffled.