By David Markson, fun, fun, fun. Excerpt:
Curiously impressed by the fact that Auden paid everyone of his bills – electric, phone, whatever – on the same day that it arrived.
We evaluate artists by how much they are able to rid themselves of convention.
Said Richard Serra.
Is this a novel or a book of aphorisms? Could it be a set of blog posts spread out over 190 pp.? Who cares, I finished it. Or:
A woman’s body is not a mass of flesh in a state of decomposition, on which the green and purplish spots denote a complete of cadaveric putrefaction.
An early critics presumed to inform Renoir.
The Last Novel