Something Tom Shone says in his piece about writers and booze (about which Seher Hussain blogged here last week) reminded me of David Foster Wallace, who took his own life almost a year ago. Shone compares, unfavourably, the “recovered life” (that of the recovered, or recovering, alcoholic) and “its endless meetings [and] rote ingestion of the sort of clichés the writer has spent his entire life avoiding”, with the bibulous life of the carousing writer.
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