Read a review in the New Yorker this morning of a biography Charles M. Schulz. He was apparently a kind of anti-social, shut-down, unaffectionate man who was devoted and obsessed with his work. He was the richest cartoonist of all times. The review made me more interested in reading Peanuts again, but didn't inspire any interest in the guy's life. I'm not interested in his wives and families. I'm more attracted to the way he dryly depicted the existential loneliness of a simple grade-schooler.
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