I was Foucault’s girlfriend (novella), by Sylvère Lotringer

‘It was really worth it,’ Foucault thought, stepping out of the New York Public Library. To anyone else but him, of course, it would have sounded a little nutty, coming all the way from Sao Paolo to New York to examine an obscure Jesuit manual on child masturbation published in 1821. But it was all there – he chuckled – as he had assumed it would be.

Foucault took his glasses off and blinked into the sun.