This writer, who I believe just won an NBA last night for non-fiction, rambles (eloquently) about rambling (eloquently). This is something I needed to read today, he said, looking down the double-barrelled shotgun of chapter 11.
The unfinished work is no less real, or necessary, or powerful than the book. How we need it, this work, these long, beautiful digressions, these surprises. May we continue to gift writers with the time for wildness. May they ramble, digress, go beyond the edges of all the known and touted maps, may they hew close to the question, to unearth the questions beyond.