After my J. M. Coetzee splurge I need a short but succulent book before tackling Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. The book that sang to me is Aldo Buzzi’s A Weakness for Almost Everything.
My last name, Buzzi, in order to be pronounced correctly by Americans, should be written thus: “Bootsie.”
Aldo Buzzi, at 99 years of age, died last October. The enthusiasm of Patrick Kurp and James Marcus, recommenders with an impeccable track record, lead me to buy all three of Signor Buzzi’s translated books.
Buzzi is an essayist who saunters across time and space, a lover of arcane learning and intellectual backwaters, and a celebrator of the senses, most emphatically the palate. [Via]
For Buzzi, writing is digression. Even his first and last sentences are digressions. Think of him as a gifted proto-blogger, a discursive raconteur of the sentence and collector of curious information from gastronomy, literature and his own storied life. [Via]