”…any claim I might make to originality in my fiction is really just the result of this odd background: basically, just me working inefficiently, with flawed tools, in a mode I don’t have sufficient background to really understand. Like if you put a welder to designing dresses.”
I really hesitated to read Tenth of December, a compilation of previously published short stories by George Saunders. I had seen Saunders on “The Colbert Report” and liked what I had heard from friends who had read his work. He’s often favorably compared with other writers that I really, really like and my own writing style was once described as being similar to his. And that was the problem. I did not want to be disappointed. Saunders had been proffered as the perfect author for me and I couldn’t bear to be let down, because obviously, the failure would be mine.