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In My Body in Nine Parts, 77-year-old Raymond Federman draws a self-derisive portrait of himself supplemented with pictures of his naked body. In this fragmented text, the body appears like an addition of parts without any coherence. It even appears to be alienated from the author’s self, a different being, with an existence of its own, and many tales to tell, about childhood days or about the disgrace of old age and the vital importance of art. Eventually, some truth will be disclosed, which will make the reader realize that beyond humor and fantasy lie gravity and anguish.