Don't ignore these guys and this genre.
I'm reminded of it as I slog through the boring, smug life of Frankie Bascombe, as told by Richard Ford.
What the hell was Ford up to, trying to out Updike Updike?
I got more out of this opening story by Dino Buzzati in Sudden Fiction International than I've gotten in two evening of dealing with poor Frankie's angst and, I guess, Ford's leavening of American emptiness.
Don't get me wrong. I like a lot of Ford, particularly the stories in Rock Springs, but Frank Bascombe is a dolt whom I don't want to read about.
This little, meaningless diatribe is like a Sudden Book Review, ain't it?
TS
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