Jessa Crispin at Bookslut intuitively links David Foster Wallace to Spalding Gray. This strikes me as appropriate. Foster's writing, with all those crazy footnotes, was surprisingly kinetic. And as with Gray's performances (and writing, for that matter), I found that when I liked it I REALLY liked it. And while I wasn't able to sustain my focus on either DFW or Gray, I kept them both in my peripheral vision.
I was happy they were there. And now I'm sad they are gone.
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I'm still in shock as regards Mr. Wallace. Unbelievable. My thoughts tend toward the pedestrian triteness of, "He had so much going for him." "What a waste of so much talent." and the like.
When a friend told me, I presumed he was joking, just something to he had to say to get away from the daily Palin drivel that the press has latched onto like a bulldog (w/o lipstick).
I still can't believe it.
Funny thing.
In the following day's Bookslut there's an interview with Miriam Toews.
May her demons be kept at bay so that she sticks around longer. Much longer.
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