He says that she’s wasting her time writing stories like that. As if he best knows how she should spend her time. To him it’s a question of sheer human perversity how she’s writing so-called stories that will not survive a moment beyond her death. As if he determines her work’s significance to posterity. He’d rather she stick to translating into English a French writer’s (male) apparently more worthwhile words. As if he even has a say.