W is for David Foster Wallace. For rendering into perfect prose the pain of being human in these times of media and technology.

V is for William T. Vollmann. No contemporary prose writer matches the vision of William the Blind and his willingness to confront the dark.

Warm zomerweer, 23 graden, nauwelijks wind, onbewolkt. Lage zon tegen bomen met verkleurende bladeren. R. kwam moe thuis uit school, wilde wel in de fietskar. Ijsje halverwege.

Donderdagochtend, 20 graden, nauwelijks wind. Gouden dag. Computer mee en een uur in het Amsterdamse Bos zitten werken – (goed concentreren).

U is for Updike? No. I have never liked the work of Updike. Actually, I have never managed to finish one novel by him.

T is for Mark Twain. Or T is for Henry David Thoreau. I can’t decide.

S is for … I don’t know. John Steinbeck, Gertrude Stein, Jacques Servin, Rebecca Solnit, Gilbert Sorrentino?

R is for Ishmael Reed. For his crazy and funny novels.

Should I pass on Q? I’m afraid so.

P is for Thomas Pynchon. Pynchon before Old Ez, Ezra Pound, and before Edgar Allan Poe. Gravity’s Rainbow: my favorite novel of all times.