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One of the superb courses I took at university involved an experiment in the psychoanalytical reading of literary works. I remember especially the class on “King Lear.” The lecturer, Dr. Idit Alphandary, argued (or maybe she didn’t, and my mind has imagined this memory from its abysses) that Lear does not how to love. He does not know how to be loved. He is like a tourist in the land of love –...