What will it be?—" So runs the last, lonely entry in Henry Darger's diary, penned on New Year's Day 1972. He would die the next year at 81, a reclusive Chicago janitor with more than the usual allotment of demons. But he also created a secret alternate universe, the Realms of the Unreal, which he mapped out in an immense novel of 15,145 pages and scores of paintings populated with girl warriors, mortarboarded malefactors, assorted chimeras, and amazing storm patterns. In the subsequent decades, his private world has captured the imagination of the public. He's the outsider artist par excellence, but to be such a creature means the outside has come inside. "What will it be?—" Darger's terminal dash now seems fraught with drama—as if he knew, all along, that his... More >>>