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Fitzgerald analyzed his weakness better than any of his critics—especially in The Crack-Up, a ruthless confession edited by Edmund Wilson. Too late, he admitted "an overextension of the flank, a burning of the candle at both ends; a call upon physical resources that I did not command, like a man overdrawing at his bank ... I have the feeling that someone, I'm not sure who, is sound asleep—someone who could have helped me to keep my shop open. It wasn't Lenin, and it wasn't God."