We are Diminished
I’ve been away from posting for a while, not so much depression as a sense of being lost, and absorbed in the literary. I’ve been reading McCarthy’s Border Trilogy, which seems to argue by demonstration that art, or writing, or perhaps beauty can despite all logic hold against the random meanness of the world. I am persuaded but no less confused; here is something like an obituary for David Foster Wallace from Scott Rettberg.
