In which I try to tackle the ephemeral notion of “understanding”. Do we need to understand art to enjoy it? And why read “difficult” fiction?
“He gets back to the Casino just as big globular raindrops, thick as honey, begin to splat into giant asterisks on the pavement, inviting him to look down at the bottom of the text of the day, where footnotes will explain all. He isn’t about to look. Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day’s end.”
- Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow
Additional reading:
Jonathan Franzen – Mr. Difficult: [ Ссылка ]
Mark de Silva – In Defense of Writing Books That May Never Be Read: [ Ссылка ]
Mark de Silva – Distant Visions: Putdownable Prose and the State of the Art Novel: [ Ссылка ]
William H. Gass Interviewed by Eric Day: [ Ссылка ]
William H. Gass Interviewed by Michael Silverblatt: [ Ссылка ]
David Foster Wallace - The Future of Fiction in the Information Age: [ Ссылка ]
Gertrude Stein – A Radio Interview: [ Ссылка ]
