Appropos of the fact that I'm reading (& very much enjoying) Reality Hunger: A Manifesto, I'll link to this appreciation of Bluets, a book I think David Shields would very much approve of. From the appreciation:
If I could come to everyone’s house and hand them a copy of Bluets, I would. It’s a slim book of two hundred and forty short, numbered paragraphs, “propositions.” It may be an extended lyric essay; it might be safe to say it is a meditation on the color blue, but that probably wouldn’t prepare you; it concerns loneliness, fucking, is haunted by blue tarps, discusses bowerbirds, touches down on Goethe and Wittgenstein, Novalis and Isaac Newton (I think even Derrida is mentioned—does this sound pretentious? It’s far from pretentious; it’s the opposite of pretentious; it’s the most straight human thing I’ve read.).
It’s an impossible book to describe without simply handing it to you . . .