This seems wise & articulates something I’ve been thinking for a long time now, so I thought I’d share it.
Fiction’s abyss is silence, nada. Whereas nonfiction’s abyss is Total Noise, the seething static of every particular thing and experience, and one’s total freedom of infinite choice about what to choose to attend to and represent and connect, and how, and why, etc.
That’s David Foster Wallace, from his introduction to one of the Best American Essay series.
I’d rather contend with the abyss of silence.