Alvaro Enrique
As I’ve written elsewhere recently, my tolerance for difficult prose is at a bit of a low right now. But, if its coupled with a fascinating look at the politics of renaissance Italy, the life of the mysterious trouble painter Caravaggio, and the clever use of tennis as a narrative device, I’m willing to make an exception.
This is an odd book, moving back and forth through time, from the modern writer struggling to write a novel, to Caravaggio playing tennis.* Its literary, without being overly serious. Enrique knows the conceits of this book are a bit absurd. He dives deep into that and produces a book that a bit challenging, but also a joy to read. Glad I happened across this one, it was worth the time.
Recommended.
*why must so much of modern literature involve an author. Enough, already.
Milo and the Calf 
Interesting note about the trope of the Author. Weren’t we supposed to have the death of him sometime in the first half of the 20th Century?
But maybe that’s why he’s come back… plus, authors are a bunch of self reflective narcissists (not meant as an insult, just as an observation) … it’s bound to come out in their writing.
Yes, I think its often used a way to talk about the process of writing, the nature of narrative blah blah blah. I’m finding it a bit tiresome lately, but that’s probably just because I’m being cranky.
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