"Marius the Epicurean," "The Essays of Elia," "Sesame and Lilies," "The Stones of Venice," and the little toy magazines, full of the flaccid banalities of the "Minor Poets," were continually in her hands.
When Presley had appeared on Los Muertos, she had welcomed his arrival with delight.

Here at last was a congenial spirit.

She looked forward to long conversations with the young man on literature, art, and ethics.
But Presley had disappointed her.

That he--outside of his few chosen deities--should care little for literature, shocked her beyond words.
His indifference to "style," to elegant English, was a positive affront.
His savage abuse and open ridicule of the neatly phrased rondeaux and sestinas and chansonettes of the little magazines was to her mind a wanton and uncalled-for cruelty.

She found his Homer, with its slaughters and hecatombs and barbaric feastings and headstrong passions, violent and coarse.