When I was a boy, about eight or nine, I remember going to a seaside resort with my father – this was after my parents divorced – and, though it was late fall and all the shops were closed and most of the restaurants, we had a fine time together, and it was then I knew everything would be okay. When my father returned me to my mother, because she had sole custody, they kissed goodbye the way old friends kiss. It all seemed pleasant enough. That is the night I became a critic because I knew that, however much love draws people together and causes them to make terrific vows, it is not love that makes all well. It is something else, and one could see it clearly, if one had eyes to.