This volume contains three of David Markson’s final four works, the other being Reader’s Block. Together, they form a set of four related works, starting with Reader's Block and followed by the three gathered here into a single collection.

I should warn anyone who reads this that it will gradually turn into something rather long as my intention is to read each work and review it rather than read all three and review them as a whole. I don’t intend to read them one after the other, either: there will be breaks while I read other books, so it will take some time for this to be a complete review of all three works.

The four books together form, in my view, a masterpiece of invention un anything else you will read. Even having read all four, it is still not clear to me how someone can write a book that consists simply of facts, quotations and musings and yet somehow create something very moving and incredibly sad. And, at least for me, beautiful.

Here are some thoughts on each of the three books in this collection. My thoughts on Reader's Block are here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

THIS IS NOT A NOVEL

In Reader’s Block, the protagonist was Reader. In This Is Not A Novel, he is Writer. In the subsequent works, he will become Author and then Novelist. I believe he is the same person all the way through, though. But there’s a logical progression from Reader through Writer to Author and then to Novelist. You can get a hint of what Markson is driving at by his protagonist’s labels.

You might have noticed that I am referring to “works” rather than “novels”. This is because these cannot really be described as novels in any conventional sense of the word. They are collections of facts, statements and musings, often completely unrelated to one another. This one begins in the same style as Reader’s Block and throws facts at the reader. But, mixed in with them this time we start to see Writer thinking about what he is writing. I extracted a number of quotes out of the melange of phrases in the first few pages, so the following quotes actually require several pages in the book and are separated by a lot of other information.

A novel with no intimation of story whatsoever, Writer would to contrive. And with no characters. None.

Plotless. Characterless.

Yet seducing the reader into turning pages nonetheless.

Actionless, Writer wants it. Which is to say, with no sequence of events. Which is to say, with no indicated passage of time. Then again, getting somewhere in spite of this.

Even with a note of sadness at the end.

A novel with no setting. With no so-called furniture. Ergo meaning finally without descriptions.

A novel with no overriding central motivations, Writer wants. Hence with no conflicts and/or confrontations, similarly.

With no social themes, i.e., no picture of society. No depiction of contemporary manners and/or morals. Categorically, with no politics.

A novel entirely without symbols.

Ultimately, a work of art without even a subject, Writer wants.

Is Writer, thinking he can bring off what he has in mind? And anticipating that he will have any readers?

There are three predominating themes to the phrases thrown, sometimes seemingly at random (although I very much doubt that is the case), at the page:

1. Death - the cause of death of many people is documented
2. Put downs - Markson quotes many artistic types saying derogatory things about other artistic types
3. Questions - some meaningful, some nonsense

The first category is probably self-explanatory. We are simply told how a well-known person died.

Some of the put downs and insults in the second section are extremely clever and funny.

There are so few people who know how to make art. —Julian Schnabel.
One less than he thinks. —Robert Hughes.

And I would dearly love to know who wrote this and to whom:

Dear Sir: I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. Your review is before me. Shortly it will be behind me.

And the questions include literary posers such as

How frequently was Anon. a woman?

What is Hamlet reading, in Act II Scene ii, when Polonius inquires and Hamlet says Words, words, words?

And nonsense questions such as

What time was it forty-five minutes before the beginning of time?

It’s a meditation on death, but also on illness and on art that is strangely compulsive reading given that there is no plot, no characters, no anything really. It’s remarkable that a kind of atmosphere develops in your mind as you read.

Or, perhaps, it IS a novel. Writing at popmatters.com, David Heckman says:

And yet Markson’s work is a novel in more ways than one. Not only is its novelty interesting and refreshing, but it manages to satisfy many of the processes that readers associate with novel-reading. The style and subject matter of the particular bits of information is so interesting and readable that Markson’s text is truly a “page-turner.” more conventional novels, Markson’s is fun (and even easy) to read. As with many popular forms or genres, which promise a certain amount of predictability, This Is Not a Novel is extremely predictable in that there is no building of tension or hope of climax since there are no sections that are more significant than any other.
other novelists before him, Markson ultimately tells a very human and touching story, although in a different way. For all of his frankness, the “Writer” becomes a familiar voice and Markson’s style becomes an old friend. The stories become “personal” as the historical figures become more regular people. In its totality, This Is Not a Novel presents an overarching tale of the sadness and absurdity of our own mortality.
This Is Not a Novel might not be for everyone, but for people who write or those who enjoy reading experimental works, Markson’s novel is truly a pleasure. At times, it may seem the “Writer” is playing a joke on the reader, and this may be so, but after all, what is a novel but an elaborately crafted deception? As D.H. Lawrence once commented, the artist is a “damned liar”—which makes me smile at Markson’s biggest lie of all: “This Is Not a Novel.”

But then again, as Writer says towards the end of the book

Or was it possibly nothing more than a fundamentally recognizable genre all the while, no matter what Writer averred? Nothing more or less than a read? Simply an unconventional, generally melancholy though sometimes even playful now-ending read? About an old man’s preoccupations.

This is not a novel that everyone will want to read. But, as Heckman says, those who enjoy the experimental side of literature can take great pleasure in an entertaining, though-provoking and, ultimately, sad story that develops despite the author’s best intentions! There isn’t a plot, but I felt I got to know Writer and felt for him. Personally, I was gripped all the way through and loved every page. A provisional 5 star rating after one book of the three is completed.

VANISHING POINT

First, we had Reader (in Reader’ Block) who was thinking about writing a novel about someone called Protagonist. He was repeatedly interrupted by thoughts of people who had died (he recorded a lot of suicides, in particular) or who were anti-Semites. Then, in This Is Not A Novel, we met Writer (I’m sure Reader and Writer are the same person). Writer was thinking about how he wanted his book to develop (I am assuming male because Markson was male): he was aiming for a book that was, in essence, empty yet compelling (which Markson achieved in This Is Not A Novel). Writer was preoccupied with death, too, and noted a lot of causes of death of famous people.

Now, in Vanishing Point, the progression continues and we meet Author. Author has a lot of material:

Author has finally started to put his notes into manuscript form.

Author had been scribbling the notes on three-by-five-inch index cards. They now come close to filling two shoebox tops taped together end to end.

This is, in fact, how Markson prepared the material for his books over a period of many years of collecting quotes and facts that he organised into a sequence that gave the effect he was aiming for.

However,

Actually, Author could have begun to type some weeks ago. For whatever reason, he’s been procrastinating.

And, once again, we head into a book of facts, quotes and questions that seem to represent the random but associated thoughts of a mind that cannot settle.

As with previous books, there are themes that develop:

1. The creative process and time taken to create works of art
2. The role of critics
3. The impact of the arts
4. Places where people died

So, we read things this about the creative process:

Was it Menander who announced that his new play was finished—all he had to do was write it?

And

Art is not truth. Art is a lie that enables us to recognize truth. Said Picasso.

And this on the progression of art:

What Palestrina would have made of a Stockhausen score. What Giotto would make of a Gerhard Richter canvas.

Then this (one of many examples) about the time taken to create works of art

Dostoievsky wrote The Gambler in sixteen days. Stephen Crane wrote The Red Badge of Courage in ten. At twenty-one. Donizetti wrote L’Elisir d’Amore in a week.

Markson is consistently damning about critics:

A critic is a man who knows the way but can’t drive the car. Said Kenneth Tynan.

This book didn’t quite have the emotional impact of the previous two. I don’t know if that is because I have become used to the style now. However, there is a rush in the last few pages that does somehow manage to build an emotional conclusion to the book as Author seems to see the end coming.

These books are very experimental and I appreciate that not everyone will want to read them. However, I do hope that people will be interested enough to at least make a start on them and see how they react. The overall impact, despite lack of plot, character, timeline or anything else you might expect in a novel, is really very powerful.

THE LAST NOVEL

The final instalment in Markson’s quartet is very consciously self-aware. I think all the books are, really, but this one makes it very obvious. Early on we read two quotes:

Old. Tired. Sick. Alone. Broke. All of which obviously means that this is the last book Novelist is going to write.

His last book. All of which also then gives Novelist carte blanche to do anything here he damned well pleases. Which is to say, writing in his own personal genre, as it were.

Followed by a reprise of a couple of phrases that have echoed through all the books:

Nonlinear. Discontinuous. Collage-. An assemblage.

A novel of intellectual reference and allusion, so to speak minus much of the novel.

And so, for the final time, we eavesdrop on the thoughts (that’s what it feels to me we are doing) of a person who has been Reader, Writer, Author and now Novelist. There is still much about death, with an additional focus in this novel on where people died.

Aspen, Colorado, Mina Loy died in.

Gravesend, on the Thames, Pocahontas died in.

And Novelist is concerned about how his previous books have been received:

Reviewers who protest that Novelist has lately appeared to be writing the same book over and over. their grandly perspicacious uncles — who groused that Monet had done those damnable water lilies nine dozen times already also.

In this book, some of the cross-references back to previous statements are more obvious. So we read

For no reason whatsoever, Novelist has just flung his cat out one of his four-flights-up front windows.

Then, a few pages later,

Novelist does not own a cat, and thus most certainly could not have thrown one out a window. Nonetheless he would lay odds that more than one hopscotching reviewer will be reading carelessly enough here to never notice these two sentences and announce that he did so.

The novel, the three that precede it, develops into a meditation on death. Here it seems that Novelist is looking back at his work and saying he’s done his best. There will be no more.

And it was Markson’s final novel.2017 5-stars11 s Paul Dembina518 123

That was very good and touching. A writer/author/novelist coming to terms with aging and thinking of death
But most definitely not maudlin and with many touches of humour.
I did find myself furiously Googling references, mostly opera singers and baseball players9 s George-Icaros BabassakisAuthor 40 books296

? ???????? David Markson ???? ?? ?????????? ??? ?????????? ???? ????? ???????! ??????? ?? ??? ?????????!8 s Christopher318 102

Wondering if there is any viable way to convince critics never to use the word tetralogy without also adding that each volume can be readily read by itself?

Readily read?


hospitalized-approaching-perfection6 s Sonali V184 78

Not going to write anything on this great book, a collection of three novels, because some of the here have been very comprehensive and said all that I thought of. It took me some time to finish reading it, with gaps between. A collection which one can return to repeatedly. Fascinating structure, respects the readers intellect.6 s Gretchen RubinAuthor 41 books115k Read

Experimental, interesting, not anything I've ever read before. I want to read more of his work.3 s Marc NashAuthor 18 books394

Superlative. I give an extended consideration of the trilogy towards the end of my Booktube video on the post-modern novel in America.

https://youtu.be/B0Dy1xSj6i03 s ??x NestelieievAuthor 22 books258

????????? ? ????? ?????????????? ??????: ??????? ????? ??????? ?????????? ?? ??????????, ? ? ??? ?????? ??????? ???? ??? ??????? ??????. ????? warum? ?? ??? ??????, ?? ???? ????...
????? ???? ??????? ???????? ???????? ???? ? ????????, ?? ?? ??? ???????????: ??????, ??????? ??? ?? ?????, ????? ?????? ??? ???????? ? ???????????????? ?????, ??? ????????????? ???????? ? ??????????????????? ?????, ??? ????? ????? ? ???? ??????????.
english1 Geoff WyssAuthor 4 books22

Really loved these three novels. (Or not-novels.) 1 Amber20 Read

Perhaps the most important piece of the book lies in the last line, “Farewell and be kind." It is a reminder to be gentle with each other and stay true to ourselves and the world around us. This is the end of the conversation between Reader and Writer. However, the impact on the reader, the heaviness and importance of the final line, is reduced with the new edition of the book. The new edition of the book is now combined with two other stories that follow the same style. And though it is interesting to have a volume of the work, does it not remove the impact of the finality of death in the final lines of This Is Not A Novel?

For more visit: www.ampspoetry.com Julien L443 1 follower

This was an interesting and thoughtful experiment in form that was kind of nauseating to read all at once. Markson is a writer whose spare, terse style of collected anecdotes and allusions shaped into a semi-coherent narrative leaves the reader thinking about the core tenets of this work, namely topics such as the ordinariness of celebrated authors, the similarities in death between figures, the connections between literary and societal development, etc.

It's an interesting experiment that when collected in three volumes is exhausting to read. michal k-c662 68

some touching and tragic lines intervening in a catalogue of facts (a truly Wittgensteinian novel), though the three novels really just feel one long novel. the world began without man and will ly end without man as well Lisa340 20

A fascinating compendium of facts and anecdotes, through which the author himself sometimes peeps through... Nick ScandyAuthor 1 book18

Markson invented a form. What have you done? Heronimo Gieronymus486 127

What a mendaciously addictive literary triptych is this! My word (my world). And to state that it grabs and holds in a manner that would seem to run entirely counter to what might be expected based on exposure to a basic explanation concerning the nature of the project, should almost certainly go without saying. Three novels involving facts about artists and thinkers (writer / author /novelist periodically insists that they are "cross-referential," and oh boy they sure are), unattributed (often) epigrams, and self-reflexive musings by the writer (Markson as Foucault-school "author-function"?) concerning the curious nature of his project and what compels it. An extraordinary amount of readerly pleasure it to be had here. Certainly for this particular reader. I devoured this thing w/ consummate immodesty! The form seems simple, but the sentences themselves are often dappled w/ tremendous finesse, and the project continually comes into focus as each of the three "novels" plateaus w/ great profundity and high spirit. It is about death. And it is about being a small voice inside a gigantic history which is itself but a tiny quantum speck. So heavy. But, my Lord, so light! Tom Buchanan215 19

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