com/2012/09/13/new-york-new-york/ Even Saul Bellow, whose 1947 novel The Victim is one of the best books about the city, edges away from geography and into allegory: On some nights New York is as hot as Bangkok. The whole continent seems to have moved from its place and slid nearer the equator, the bitter gray Atlantic to have become green and tropical, and the people, thronging the streets, barbaric fellahin ( 1) among the stupendous monuments of their mystery, the lights of which, a dazzling profusion, climb upward endlessly into the heat of the sky. )
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