Just got the news yesterday (via a link to my David Markson: An Introduction) that David Markson died (I think on Saturday, though I haven’t found any official date). There are a number of posts around on lit blogs, you can start your link trail over at Sarah Weinman’s post. Markson was (WAS!) my favorite living novelist, hands down. I’ve read all his books (except I’ve never finished his book on Lowry’s Under the Volcano, as I always meant to read it after I reread Lowry’s novel first), and I’ve read a good number of them many times. His novels (particularly the later ones) are repositories that always offer up new knowledge, connections, and feelings. I can’t reach the end of The Last Novel (link to my review), without feeling heartbroken. It felt like a final work (even disregarding the title), and it is fitting that (unless there’s something new forthcoming that I’m unaware of) it was his last novel.
I originally discovered Markson’s work thanks to a happy coincidence of juxtaposition. An issue of The Review of Contemporary Fiction which I bought for it’s half on John Barth, featured Markson in its second half. I ended up reading some of the articles and seeking out his works. I feel in love with his work from then. Through his work, I ended up reading Lowry and, even more importantly to me, Gaddis.
Time to go reread some of his works. And maybe it’s time to reread Under the Volcano and finally read Markon’s study of same.