So I came back to New York in 1929 and Booommm! . . . I wanted to write, I wanted to be an anthropologist – I didn’t know what! A new world was around. So I said, “To hell with it, Columbia!” I’m writing short stories. I discover American literature, Hemingway, Sinclair Lewis, the whole bunch. Hemingway just knocks me over, those early things of his – In Our Time, Men Without Women, The Sun Also Rises. Like every callow young author, I wanted to write like him; meanwhile Joyce was interesting. Five years, no job! . . . Writing stories nobody would buy.