Wittgenstein’s Mistress by David Markson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Markson takes all the examination of history, literature, art, and reality that makes up the best of literature and presents it in a new way. A cliché sure but I swear it is true. Similar maybe to Beckett’s prose and reminding me of W.G. Sebald (anecdotes I guess) for some reason without really resembling either of them. Light accessible prose that is quite hilarious at moments and imbued with an almost preternatural sadness, off putting only in its relentless singularity. The thoughts and anecdotes seem random but do not read out of order as something will come back unexpectedly and make you laugh or take your breath away. A unique narrator and imagination at work here. It is a bit insulting to consider this work “experimental”, as it is well, so successful. It is finally a book that goes on its own and manages to accomplish what you want out of a book. A very strange beauty exists in its closing pages.

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