(Disclaimer: Spoilers related to the Philip Roth novel

It's possible they did, because the close of Indignation sounds like a complicated affair. Here's what Roth will say on WNYC, via the Observer:

Not until the end do we discover that this is-I think you discover-this is a morphine-induced hallucination and in the morphine revelry that he has he tells his story, and in that morphine revelry he wonders where the hell am I? And he thinks, well I must be dead. And in fact he does die, but he dies after the morphine-induced thought of death comes to him.

So Roth's character dies right after thinking he's dying or dead. So does that mean Kakutani was right when she wrote the book is perhaps the narrator's "last, morphine-fueled memories as he lies dying of fatal wounds?" That depends on whether the narrator dies of fatal wounds. And if two paid Times reviewers can't get the ending straight, we're not about to try.

(WNYC photo via Observer)

For one, Philip Roth is a charmer. He can make Terry Gross giggle like a school girl. His characters are often nihilistic, immoral and selfish, but in Roth's rendering still come off as likable and relatable. The fact that women can like a book like Portnoy's Complaint, where they are routinely objectified, speaks to Roth's insane talent as a writer. But it's hard to film obsessive masturbation as beautifully as Roth can write it.

Without Roth's touch, his storylines turn to shit. Take the The Human Stain. The Times called the book "beautifully nuanced" and the adaption an "honorable B+ term paper of a movie."

So this movie deal is a mistake. Why is Roth going through with it? $$$ is the easy answer, but the first guy who lived to see his work published by the Library of America probably doesn't need it, even if heating his Connecticut manor is expensive. There's also glamor. Rumor has it that Roth bedded Nicole Kidman and then called a publishing buddy to brag about it. Which pretty much seems like exactly the sort of thing a Roth protagonist would do, so you can't say Kidman shoulda been surprised.

But why do women fall prey to Roth's charms? For that, we turn to my subconscious.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream that Philip Roth was being very nice to me. A friend said, "But he's Philip Roth, you know what that means," to which I replied, "Yeah, but he's Philip Roth!"

Such charisma doesn't film well.

Fuck if I know. I saw the Kids in the Hall movie, Brain Candy, and I know that a magic pill doesn't work. To be happy overall, you have to be a little miserable sometimes. It's just the rules.

It does seem like Western society is obsessed with the search for happiness. So maybe like Huckleberry Finn, it's all about the journey, and we find happiness in the fruitless search for it. Who says Sisyphus was miserable, pushing that rock up the hill only to have it fall down the next day? It's honest work. As Albert Camus put it, "The struggle itself is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Here are three things that make me happy. They might not work for you.

• Buying the paper and a banana for my roommate on Sunday mornings.
  
• Looking at Facebook pictures of people I haven't seen in 15 years.
  
• That Asian guy who runs around Prospect Park the wrong way every morning usually with his dog, but sometimes with his friend. Today he was with his wife, which also made me happy.

And here are three things that make me sad:

• Empty "Happy Birthday!" wishes on Facebook walls.
  
• The Bowling Green stop on the 4/5 line.
  
• That everyone thinks Curtis Sittenfeld is chick lit because she writes about the human experience from a female perspective. No one calls Philip Roth dick lit. And while we're at it, why isn't "dick lit" a popular phrase?

SPIEGEL: You have email and don't use it?
Roth: I use it with one person, one person only, because I don't... I don't want to be bothered.
SPIEGEL: May we ask who the one person is?
Roth: One person. I have to have some fun.

Where were we? Ah yes. The character, displeased with the fellatio etc., "leaned into her face and rhythmically, without letup, I fucked her mouth."

In the new one, Hitch writes, a character reveals that:

something not unlike the above, culminating in her vomiting, was once inflicted on her by the captain of the tennis team. Prompt upon his cue, Zuckerman seizes an opportunity to correct her on a point of grammar, and then adds: "In the old days, before well-brought-up adolescent girls had their faces fucked forcefully, you never heard 'hopefully' misused like that."

When Raymond Chandler felt things going limp in a story, he would have the door open and then it would be: Enter a man carrying a gun. When Roth is in the same fix, we know that some luckless goy chick is about to get it in the face. Exit reader.

Zuckerman Undone [Atlantic]