The writer Edmund White died yesterday at the age of 85. I just stumbled on the news this morning online, but so far, as of tonight, I haven't seen any mention of it in my social media. My connections there include numerous gay media, publishers, and citizens, so I'm surprised. I had numerous disagreements with him, but he was a fine writer, courageously chose to be openly gay before many of his contemporaries, he helped open the way for two generations of queer writers, and was very productive. His most recent book, a memoir, appeared earlier this year; he was productive to the end. Despite longtime poor health, his death seems to have come suddenly. I'll miss him, despite my disagreements with him.
In particular I want to highlight a point on which I strongly agree with him:
A canon is for people who don't like to read, people who want to know the bare minimum of titles they must consume in order to be considered polished, well rounded, civilized. Any real reader seeks the names of more and more books, not fewer and fewer.
According to the Guardian, White produced more than thirty books in numerous genres, contributing his share to "more and more books." I prefer his essays and biographies to most of his novels, but it's time to go through all of them again. It happens that I recently reread the first two, Forgetting Elena and Nocturnes for the King of Naples, so I'll go on from there.
