Present Out Of Books Wittgenstein's Mistress
| Title | : | Wittgenstein's Mistress |
| Author | : | David Markson |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Special Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 279 pages |
| Published | : | May 1st 1988 by Dalkey Archive Press |
| Categories | : | Fiction. Philosophy. Novels. Literature |
David Markson
Paperback | Pages: 279 pages Rating: 3.98 | 5035 Users | 611 Reviews
Commentary During Books Wittgenstein's Mistress
Wittgenstein's Mistress is a novel unlike anything David Markson - or anyone else - has ever written before. It is the story of a woman who is convinced, and, astonishingly, will ultimately convince the reader as well, that she is the only person left on earth. Presumably she is mad. And yet so appealing is her character, and so witty and seductive her narrative voice, that we will follow her hypnotically as she unloads the intellectual baggage of a lifetime in a series of irreverent meditations on everything and everybody from Brahms to sex to Heidegger to Helen of Troy. And as she contemplates aspects of the troubled past which have brought her to her present state, so too will her drama become one of the few certifiably original fictions of our time.Identify Books In Favor Of Wittgenstein's Mistress
| Original Title: | Wittgenstein's Mistress |
| ISBN: | 1564782115 (ISBN13: 9781564782113) |
| Edition Language: | English |
Rating Out Of Books Wittgenstein's Mistress
Ratings: 3.98 From 5035 Users | 611 ReviewsCommentary Out Of Books Wittgenstein's Mistress
But when they succeed, as I claim David Markson's 'Wittgenstein's Mistress' does, they serve the vital & vanishing function of reminding us of fiction's limitless possibilities for reach & grasp, for making heads throb heartlike... ~ David Foster Wallace******This novel is a genius exploration into the limitations of language (are my roses still red in the dark?), the fragmented, unreliability of memory... all of the varied imperfections of the mind. The repetition can be tiresome, butVideo review: https://youtu.be/x-r9MRAl-2Y
The five star, in all good conscience, should only be awarded after a second run-through and piece-together. I am stunned and throat-constricted after finishing this and need to catch my breath, regroup. I have my notes and a review kernel ready but it does no justice to this novel. I don't want to review it. Instead, I want to read it a thousand times.
Okay, right up front, I read this on the basis that David Foster Wallace, who is unambiguously my literary hero, ascribed extremely high praise to this book. Foregoing any knuckle-biting self-analysis over what effect this had on my perceptions of the book I will just give my thoughts directly.First off, I think I could accept a description of this book as pretentious, self-indulgent, plotless, etc. All the usual suspects. Large swaths of its content are jumbled thoughts about painters, museums,
My last review before this was about a novel with only one paragraph.This time, it is about a novel with no paragraph.Or maybe with many paragraphs.I guess it depends on what a paragraph is.When is a sentence just a sentence, and when does it become a paragraph?Here, the paragraphs are composed of just one sentence each.Sometimes not even a sentence.Just phrases each ending with a period.So if they're not paragraphs then this novel has no paragraphs.Just sentences standing separately from each
I have a fever at the typing of these characters. An actual, or should I say, literal fever. 102.4 by electronic mouth thermometer. Whatever is meant by that time annuls. In a sense. Having read Wittgenstein's Tractatus, but nothing more than secondary texts or quotations of Investigations, I will cop to missing some of what Markson was likely up to here, until the DFW.My prima facie negative ghost comment may well have been, and may well still be that Markson's text can border on tedium [though
The protagonist, a painter, finds herself to be the last person on earth. More accurately, the last mammal, as even cats and seagulls are nowhere to be found except in bits of tape and pieces of floating ash. For years she wanders the earth alone. Looking for people in store windows. Feeding imaginary cats. Is she mad? Has she imagined all this?That alone would've been a good premise for a novel. But Markson takes that premise as just the backdrop, the starting point for many other
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