fwriction

DFW’s impact on my literary life—as a writer, student, teacher, editor—continues everyday, and this piece in the NYT, regarding Wallace’s widow, Karen Green, reminded me how charming and powerful language can be:

Midway down the sheet, stamped “Medical Center,” are rows of embroidered tally marks representing the number of days Ms. Green, 50, has been a widow. In the pocket is a patient’s right-to-privacy booklet she acquired during a visit to a psychiatrist after Mr. Wallace’s death. Next to the sheet is a yellowing, stained pillow, part of its feathery stuffing removed and strewn on the floor. The dog whose features are embroidered on the sheet died soon after Mr. Wallace’s death.