Dixon

In I. Dixon took us more intimately into the creative process than ever before, and in End of I. he digs even deeper, as his narrator rehearses and retries different versions of the same openings for each chapter before getting the stories going. The material is familiar from Dixon's other novels: daughters, sick and dying parents, caring for a disabled wife, friendship, work, financial frustrations, sex, worry, fear, neuroses, character flaws, drinking, joy, the writing process.

I admire Dixon's work enormously. Sometimes he's howlingly funny, other times terribly sad. He's always interesting, and has a truly unique voice. For the tenth time: read him, dammit.