Author: David Markson/Afterword by David Foster Wallace
Every book I’ve ever read by David Markson has been exactly the same: fragments and full sentences about every single thing this guy knows about art, philosophy, and literature. Non-linear. A jumble. Maddening if you’re looking for any kind of narrative, somewhat pleasant and comforting if not.
There is no plot to Wittgenstein’s Mistress, really, though the conceit of this “novel” is that a woman who believes she’s the last human on Earth is writing an enormous number of messages that presumably no one will ever read.
Honestly, though, all you really need to know about this book is: in an article he wrote for Salon, David Foster Wallace (who also wrote the afterword of this book) calls it, “pretty much the high point of experimental fiction in this country.”
What you do with that information is up to you. I’m not here to judge you. Especially if you aren’t judging me, since I’m just trying to sell all the books I don’t want to keep around my house.