Monday, July 17, 2006

Stephen Dixon Watch Y2OMGBBQ

A Technorati search of this blog informs me that I've dropped Stephen Dixon's name in 15 of my 368 posts. Meaning that, on average, I've mentioned Stephen Dixon once out of every 25 times I've opened up the Blogger create post window. I have no idea whether I've ever said anything interesting or intelligent or persuasive about the guy's work--that strange blogger fear of reading one's own archives prevents me from investigating the matter in-depth. But a four percent blogging batting average has to mean something, right? (Compare this number to Kazuo Ishiguro, who has come up in 26 posts, and Stephen King, who I've mentioned three times. I'm far more of an elitist snooty-lit-loving jerkface than I might like to claim I am, aren't I? Crapsticks.)

Whether or not I've said anything worth saying, the number of times I've mentioned Stephen Dixon means at least that there's maybe a small chance that I've verbally bludgeoned someone out there into reading Interstate, which despite what I'm about to mention remains the one book of his I've read that I'd suggest someone read, were they only going to read one of his books, or were they looking for someplace to dive into his output. People looking for his most current work, though, might be interested in knowing that McSweeney's has just published his latest book, End of I., which is the sequel to I., and that the two books are now being sold as a package deal. It's a good deal, considering how McSweeney's loves to publish not just good books but nice book-objects. (I., I can confirm, is pretty sharp. I can't imagine End of I. being any less nifty.)

The Rake likes it, so far. I plan on picking it up once I go off money-saving mode, myself. Maybe once I work through some more of the other Stephen Dixon titles on the TBR pile. Maybe.

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