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May 1964

I Went to See the Elephant.

Arch Intern Med. 1964;113(5):784-785. doi:10.1001/archinte.1964.00280110164038

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Many people have an impulse to commit autobiography, an impulse which, of course, luckily for what used to be called with high irony the "gentle reader," is usually stifled, deflected into other channels, or even sublimated. Sometimes the mood just passes off if left unmolested. Biography and autobiography illustrate, many times with considerable afterthought and rarely with forethought, the difficulty, one might even say the impossibility, of getting down on paper a valid and reasonably exact image of the author. Dwight Ingle's book, told in an offhand and very unpretentious way, which illustrates a characteristic trait of the author, seems to be just the story of "the country boy who makes good." Indeed that it is, but the gentle and perceptive tale is told in such an unselfconscious manner as almost to deny the usual autobiographical motivation and motif. There are many whimsical parts. In many places humor, sometimes unconscious,

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