“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”


DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)


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10 April 2017

MY TABLE TONIGHT: STRANGE BUSINESS

On hearing first thing this morning of the death of John Clarke, our foremost yet most humble satyrist, observer, writer, performer, producer and philosopher, I found myself drinking large whisky and tidying my kitchen for a lot of messy tears whilst recalling The Grampians. Pretty weird. Like Ruby Hunter has gone plus Lloyd Rees and  cranky Donald Horne all at once. I don't mean to pick anybody but you know what I intend. Like a really great one. Like I dunno, you dunno, but it's a great big mess of em gone through one astonishing mind. This is what ended up on the corner of the table. Don't ask.

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