The writer in exile emerged as a romantic figure over the last century, providing soundbite-ready evidence that art can be a vessel for a society's jeopardized soul. But while this collision of tortured artist and sweeping political backdrop seems like perfect fodder for many a biopic, it also risks accentuating what people hate about the genre: its tendency toward monumentalism, and its simplification of history through the lens of individual heroism. [The rest of the post can be read at The L Magazine.]
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