i don't have time for much blogging this week as I'm chasing a deadline on the art for a short John Constantine story for Vertigo's 250th issue of the title due out in December. I've completed just enough of it to feel that it won't defeat me.
Meanwhile, I'm stunned by the suicide of writeer David Foster Wallace, a couple of days ago at age 46, and am reading assorted obituaries. This one by Nilanjana S Roy in the India Business Standard, in fond recognition of Wallace's best known literary technique, has 290 words of footnotes.
On David Foster Wallace’s Wiki page, some hacker with a twisted sense of humour inserted the word “nigger” into random sentences on Monday. Wallace, who hanged himself this weekend at the age of 46, would have approved of the hack, but lamented the lack of imagination. Wallace’s own prose swooped into footnotes [i], marginalia, diagrams, parentheses, footnotes within footnotes, parentheses within parentheses, as though he was signalling that life was too big, too unwieldy to be contained by an instrument as puny as language. He wrote relatively little — the mammoth contraption that was Infinite Jest, incisive essays (A Supposedly Fun Thing I Will Never Do Again, his account of life on a cruise ship), short stories — and was teaching at Pomona University at the time of his death.
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