Praising With Faint Dams I

Proust isn’t easy to read, but he’s worth the effort. Strange and sensitive and thoughtful, he seemed to exist outside.

Kerouac, um, wrote really fast. Apparently.

Salinger didn’t write much, and then turned weird. Perhaps he was weird all along.

Scott and Zelda couldn’t seem to control themselves, which would have been fun when it wasn’t dangerous and funny when it wasn’t tragic.

Waugh reads easy, but the writing probably wasn’t. It seldom is. Also, he could be a grumpy bugger.

Hemingway could hold his liquor and do heroic things. He could love women. He loved several women but it never seemed to last. He showed us how to write.

Capote is neglected, perhaps, by some, but he had the gift. A good drinking companion, maybe. A sad figure. Another outsider.

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Published in: on March 5, 2013 at 7:32 pm  Leave a Comment  

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