This inhibits his writing, and in an effort to figure out young people and how they work, he recently fostered an 11 year-old Iraqi orphan named Naseefa for three months. Franzen insisted that Naseefa keep a journal, and what follows are excerpts from that journal.

Day 15:

It is morning and I had just woken from another nightmare full of the bombs and the screaming of the torn and dead. As I open my eyes I see Master Franzen staring down intently upon me. He has been watching me in my terror, he says. “Naseefa, what were you thinking as you slept?! Tell me!!” I say to him that I do not know how to put my thoughts into english words and Master grows frustrated. He hits at things in his apartment, saying bad words, and then he runs off and begins to type.
Day 18:

Today Master took me to Fantasy Forest amusement park. “Go,” he said, “act naturally.” Master then bought a hotdog, arguing briefly with the vendor about technology, and then sat on a bench with his notebook. I went on the Merry-Go-Round and as it was just starting up Master ran to me, “Little boy,” he yelled, “why did you choose this horse? It’s missing a hoof, does it remind you of the carnage of war? Does it summon memories of a family member having an amputation? Why not the lion, does it frighten you because it summons images of your abusive uncle having sex with your mother while your father worked?!”

I did not know what to say so I began to cry. Master Franzen scribbled in his notebook and then started to argue with the hotdog vendor about technology again.

Day 19:

Master seemed depressed today, spending hours in front of the mirror rearranging his hair.

Day 24:

Today Master forced me to open a Twitter account. He wanted to observe as I interacted with the outside world through the use of technology. However he keeps interfering, insisting that every hour I Tweet something about his new book Purity. Without saying a word, he hands me a little piece of paper with the words I must Tweet.

“Franzen is a giant who looms over the American landscape.”

“Purity is a complex and beautiful meditation on what it means to be alive.”

“We are blessed that not only is Franzen the greatest living writer in America, but that his best novels promise to be before him.”

“Just saw an interview with Jonathan Franzen! Not only is he brilliant, but sexy, too!”

Day 38:

Lasagna for dinner again. Master said that his fans worship him and make food for him all the time, and then he laughed a dry, mean laugh.

I am frightened in America.

Day 43:

Master returned to the apartment in a bad mood today, as his tennis lessons did not go well. “The backhand bedevils me!” he exclaimed, before throwing his racket at his transistor radio.

He stared at the broken pieces on the floor for a long time and then suddenly he spun around and shouted at me, “What are you thinking?!”

Here are some excerpts from my journal:

Day 4:

I feel angry.

I don’t believe that there was ever an Alpha male on this planet who stood up at a dinner party and said, “I’m sorry, but I have some dietary restrictions. Is there any wheat, dairy or gluten in any of the food you’re serving? Oh, okay. No worries, I have some carrots in a baggie over here. By the way, we march on Rome at dawn!”

Colour: The green/black of a tornado sky.

Day 7:

Last night I had a dream that actress Jennifer Lawrence and I were living together and I barked at her for brushing her hair too loudly. I woke up angry and ashamed, feelings that have stayed with me all day.

I learned something new today while watching the Stanley Cup finals with some buddies, and that is that beer is a gluten-saturated beverage. I hardly ever drink beer but I was completely demoralized to find out I can’t drink it, or eat the fucking nachos and burgers that everybody else was devouring with ease and relish.

I felt left out and got drunk on gluten-free vodka.

I also got in my first fistfight since grade five.

I hope it wasn’t captured on video as it turns out I cannot take a good slap.

Colour: Colour coding my days is stupid.

Day 9:

My Instagrammed dinner:

I am now eating colours instead of food.

Colour: Fuck you.

Day 14:

Fuck Montreal.

Fuck Montreal in the ear hole.

I just cancelled the trip we were planning on taking there for Rachelle’s birthday. I don’t want to go on a trip that’s defined by all the perfectly crafted, delicious foods I’m not allowed to eat. If I can’t have a croissant or smoked meat sandwich, then Rachelle doesn’t need a birthday. I have put my foot down.

Colour: A confident, furious black

Day 16:

It’s nice being back in Montreal and it was both thoughtless and selfish of me to try to cancel our trip because of my dietary restrictions. Just because I can’t have a smoked meat sandwich doesn’t mean that Rachelle shouldn’t enjoy one in front of me! And hey, she should go right ahead and flirt with that beautiful man in that saucy hat! He’s leaning against an awfully nice looking car! I bet it’s worth more than a house! Happy birthday, Rachelle, don’t mind me, I’ll just sit here in my gluten-free corner!

Colour: I am interested in trying crack cocaine.