We can’t think of anything particularly compelling to say. And every time we open our mouths, it results in gardyloo. So we’re taking a sizable break. Happy holidays.

One 2004 book that seems to have been entirely overlooked by all the end-of-the-year listmakers is David Markson’s Vanishing Point. (Full confession: I’m just as guilty, having only just hit Markson’s latest on my bookpile.) Nevertheless, Markson deserves some special consideration, given how he’s mastered the ability to juxtapose obscure personal tidbits involving artistic figures against the emotional dilemma of the “Author.” (For example, “David Garrick, retiring from the stage: Now I will sit and read Shakespeare.”)

This is the kind of cultural obsession that almost anyone who reads thinks about to some degree. That Markson’s tidbits are both fascinating and unsourced almost lends his work to compulsive fact-ferreting among the truly obsessed “Jesus, did that really happen?” scholars. (In fact, Markson’s phrasing reminds me of Don Marquis’s poetry with its seemingly simple gimmick masking a deeper emotional patina.) But Vanishing Point (much like This is Not a Novel and Reader’s Block) also addresses the broader problem of how literary culture often marginalizes the art in favor of the artists’ lives. How far removed are we really from the People subscribers? In dwelling upon the personal foibles of high cultural icons, are we groping for an existential meaning that we lack?

These are the bold questions that Vanishing Point and Markson in general dares to unfurl. But even if you’re not into this kind of obsessive probing (although you probably will be), Vanishing Point is still a supremely enjoyable novel.

(Also, happy anniversary, Mr. Syntax of Things.)

“It’s saving humanity!” “It’s just like reading a book!” “It’s just like partying!” These and many other excuses can be found in Suzy Hansen’s amusing article on gaming and relationships, a connection that I suspect goes far deeper than anyone cares to admit.

Carl Hiaasen acts nuts in the presence of Bob Shacochis and becomes my new hero. Among Hiaasen’s affronts:

• “because I’m making cell-phone calls in my car and exhibiting an absolute lack of urgency, Hiaasen rearranges the garbage cans.”
• “Eventually we drag our feet down his dock and load gear onto the boat with icy fingers and half a warm heart between us. “
• “‘Do you want people to die? Do you want carcasses floating down Biscayne Boulevard?’ he says. ‘Of course not. But nature’s here to remind us, and it does, that it can kick our ass, that we’re just gnats.'”

Orson Scott Card is slated to get his panties in a bunch over Iron Man, penning a six issue miniseries. Iron Man will become a card-carrying member of the NRA, adjusting the strength of his armor so that Democrats will be incapable of filibustering and blue staters will lick the GOP’s feet during the 2008 presidential election.