For Me, Something Beyond the Words Remains

For Me, Something Beyond the Words Remains (Two)

Can I tell you something confidentially? RICK GROEN epitomised brilliance when I worked alongside him at The Globe and Mail fulltime during the early eighties; his film reviews were reviews of film, not him; in fact, I used to study them, I so admired his writing. It was from him I learned never to use the first-person singular (nor the editorial "we," as far as that goes); and, for those who understand its meaning, I picked up a trick or two about journalistic architecture. Additionally, at present, The Globe's "REVIEW" section might best be described as doubly blessed, given the fact its editor is now Andrew Gorham (whom I can't help but suspect has had a hand in slugging Groen's assessment of the inimitable David Foster Wallace).

(A brief aside: For me, this distinction provides the best definition between traditional literary journalism and blogging I can discover. Blogging, I've learned, is completely first-personal, perhaps because of the immediacy of the experience, perhaps in defiance of "the rules" we learned all those years ago.)

That said, allow me to add Rick's genuine self-deprecation in this extraordinarily original and unique take on David Foster Wallace does its subject grand justice; and, in a way, it electrifies yours truly. His appreciation marks, in my recollection, one of the few times I've ever seen him go to the first-person in almost thirty years of following his luminous wordworks, making of it a response to an event that shall indelibly remain as incandescent as his hope and fear for a better tomorrow brightly shines here, porous with the notion that we are, indeedly, all un-alone.

Enjoy one of the currently ravaged and savaged art's true masters.