The anecdote: the other day I mentioned Bernard Malamud in a
group of
well-read people; most of them had never heard of him and the
one who
recognized the name thought Malamud was a Soviet Jew. What
surprised me
- and frankly, saddened me - is that Malamud didn't die that
long ago
and was a preeminent figure in American letters. What does
this short
memory span and burying of the past say about this country
and its
people? I have noticed the same phenomenon in the mystery
field, where
many great writers of the past (sometimes, the recent past)
lie
forgotten while mediocrities without skill or originality
gain instant
spots on the best-seller lists. Something's wrong here.
Regards,
Mario Taboada
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