It wasn’t until my forties that I finally got around to reading Philip Roth. I’d absorbed the buzz about his male-driven novels, and was simply in no hurry. But WOW. When I finally did, the bravura of his writing rocked me. Today, I’ve been poring through the obits. My favorite is a personal tribute by Zadie Smith [1]. Here’s an excerpt:
“Roth always told the truth—his own, subjective truth—through language and through lies, the twin engines at the embarrassing heart of literature. Embarrassing to others, never to Roth. Second selves, fake selves, fantasy selves, replacement selves, horrifying selves, hilarious, mortifying selves—he welcomed them all.”