Welcome once again to "Literary Matters." We have but two humble literary matters. That's all a human being can really stand of literary matters, I think. Let's begin. 1) Maud Newton likes Charles Willeford, as I have been excited to discover through her "blog." I like Charles Willeford, too! SIDESWIPE is my favorite. I have given Tom Franklin a copy of SIDESWIPE as a present. I have deduced while roaming around Square Books that Barry Hannah must like Charles Willeford; I've seen Willeford among the assigned texts for Hannah's noir class. If you will recall, Maud Newton and I also share an affection for Peter De Vries. And yet there may not be two writers any more different than Willeford and De Vries in style and sensibility. It really makes you think, I guess. 2) A day or two ago I read this in ROBINSON CRUSOE: "It would make the reader pity me, or rather laugh at me, to tell how many awkward ways I took to raise this paste, what odd misshapen ugly things I made, how many of them fell in, and how many fell out, the clay not being stiff enough to bear its own weight; how many crack'd by the over violent heat of the sun, being set out too hastily; and how many fell in pieces with only removing, as well before as after they were dry'd; and in a word, how after having laboured hard to find the clay, to dig it, to temper it, to bring it home and work it, I could not make above two large earthen ugly things, I cannot call them jars, in about two months labour." And I was like, "I hear you, Robinson Crusoe!" I was like, "I totally get where you are coming from." I was like, "Tell me about it, Robinson Crusoe." I was like, "I'm right there with you." I was like, "Welcome to my world." That's what I was like.
