Pg. 135 of David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater:
     On which David Markson put a check next to a mention of Gwendolen John:     “Augustus John’s sister Gwen, who had often posed for Rodin.”
—
     The same Gwen about whom Markson says…
     “Fleeing the start of World War II, Gwen John collapsed and died on a street in Dieppe.”     From pg. 173 of Reader’s Block.
—
     David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 135 of David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater:

     On which David Markson put a check next to a mention of Gwendolen John:
     “Augustus John’s sister Gwen, who had often posed for Rodin.”

     The same Gwen about whom Markson says…

     “Fleeing the start of World War II, Gwen John collapsed and died on a street in Dieppe.”
     From pg. 173 of Reader’s Block.

     David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 175 of David Markson’s copy of Joyce: The Man, the Work, the Reputation by Marvin Magalaner & Richard M. Kain:
     On which Markson placed an x and a check in the margins next to the following Joyce anecdote re: something he said to Al Laney (whose name Markson has also underlined):     “An acquaintance of Joyce in Paris during the early twenties has recalled to the author of the present study an unpublished anecdote, in which Joyce used a similar figure to describe his view of religion. Men, he said to Al Laney, then a correspondent for the Paris Herald, are like deep-sea fish, swimming in water that is mysteriously irradiated with light from above the surface but unable to rise to the surface to see—a characteristic figure in its grotesquerie and its relevance to Joyce’s own limited sight.”
—
     Swimming in water that is mysteriously irradiated with light from above the surface…
     “A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles, and is there one who understands me?”     From Joyce’s Finnegans Wake.     From Markson’s The Last Novel. (Pg. 187)
     Unable to rise to the surface to see…
     “Joyce had twenty-five operations on his eyes.”     According to Markson on pg. 67 of Reader’s Block.
     Its relevance to Joyce’s own limited sight…

     Pg. 175 of David Markson’s copy of Joyce: The Man, the Work, the Reputation by Marvin Magalaner & Richard M. Kain:

     On which Markson placed an x and a check in the margins next to the following Joyce anecdote re: something he said to Al Laney (whose name Markson has also underlined):
     “An acquaintance of Joyce in Paris during the early twenties has recalled to the author of the present study an unpublished anecdote, in which Joyce used a similar figure to describe his view of religion. Men, he said to Al Laney, then a correspondent for the Paris Herald, are like deep-sea fish, swimming in water that is mysteriously irradiated with light from above the surface but unable to rise to the surface to see—a characteristic figure in its grotesquerie and its relevance to Joyce’s own limited sight.”

     Swimming in water that is mysteriously irradiated with light from above the surface…

     “A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles, and is there one who understands me?”
     From Joyce’s Finnegans Wake.
     From Markson’s The Last Novel. (Pg. 187)

     Unable to rise to the surface to see…

     “Joyce had twenty-five operations on his eyes.”
     According to Markson on pg. 67 of Reader’s Block.

     Its relevance to Joyce’s own limited sight…

     Pg. 211 of David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater:
     On which David Markson placed a check next to mention of Rainer Maria Rilke meeting Eleonora Duse:     “Carlo Placci came to spend a few weeks in Venice, and was instrumental in arranging an introduction to Eleonora Duse. He had long wanted to meet the great actress, dreamed even of seeing her one day in the dramatic poem The White Princess he had dedicated to her: but although opportunities could have been made, he had not pressed himself forward, and had continued to admire her from afar, not least, from the well-known story of her affair with D’Annunzio, as another in his Malte gallery of great women lovers.”
—
     Rilke “dreamed even of seeing her one day in the dramatic poem The White Princess.”
     This would never happen.
     “Eleonora Duse died of pneumonia. In Pittsburgh.”     According to pg. 20 of Markson’s This Is Not A Novel.
     “April 21, 1924, Eleonora Duse died on.”     According to pg. 131 of Markson’s The Last Novel.
—
     David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 211 of David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater:

     On which David Markson placed a check next to mention of Rainer Maria Rilke meeting Eleonora Duse:
     “Carlo Placci came to spend a few weeks in Venice, and was instrumental in arranging an introduction to Eleonora Duse. He had long wanted to meet the great actress, dreamed even of seeing her one day in the dramatic poem The White Princess he had dedicated to her: but although opportunities could have been made, he had not pressed himself forward, and had continued to admire her from afar, not least, from the well-known story of her affair with D’Annunzio, as another in his Malte gallery of great women lovers.”

     Rilke “dreamed even of seeing her one day in the dramatic poem The White Princess.”

     This would never happen.

     “Eleonora Duse died of pneumonia. In Pittsburgh.”
     According to pg. 20 of Markson’s This Is Not A Novel.

     “April 21, 1924, Eleonora Duse died on.”
     According to pg. 131 of Markson’s The Last Novel.

     David Markson’s copy of A Ringing Glass: The Life of Rainer Maria Rilke by Donald Prater is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 257 of David Markson’s copy of The Complete Greek Drama: Volume Two by Various (Ed. Whitney J. Oates & Eugene O’Neill, Jr.):
     On which Markson placed a check next to and underlined a stage direction in Euripides’ The Bacchae:     “(who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, simply speaks the thoughts that Dionysus puts into him, losing power over his own mind)”
     In addition to some other underlining of lines by Dionysus and Pentheus.
—
     Speaking of Dionysus putting thoughts into one’s head and losing power over one’s own mind…
     “The myth that Dionysus invented wine.      On Mount Nysa.      In Libya.”     Wrote Markson on pg. 163 of Vanishing Point.

     Pg. 257 of David Markson’s copy of The Complete Greek Drama: Volume Two by Various (Ed. Whitney J. Oates & Eugene O’Neill, Jr.):

     On which Markson placed a check next to and underlined a stage direction in Euripides’ The Bacchae:
     “(who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, simply speaks the thoughts that Dionysus puts into him, losing power over his own mind)”

     In addition to some other underlining of lines by Dionysus and Pentheus.

     Speaking of Dionysus putting thoughts into one’s head and losing power over one’s own mind…

     “The myth that Dionysus invented wine.
     On Mount Nysa.
     In Libya.”
     Wrote Markson on pg. 163 of Vanishing Point.

     Pg. 164 of David Markson’s copy of A Homemade World: The American Modernist Writers by Hugh Kenner:
     On which Markson placed a check next to a mention of writer Louis Zukofsky.
—
     Louis Zukofsky was an American poet, born just a few months before fictional Leopold Bloom took his fictional stroll.
     Zukofsky, born Jan 23rd, 1904, and died May 12th, 1978, is probably best remembered for his long poem "A".
     "A" is an 826-page poem that took Zukofsky pretty much his entire lifetime to complete.
     He seems like just the kind of interesting yet underappreciated and oft-overlooked writer that Markson would have found things to say about in his Notecard Quartet.
     To my surprise, Zukofsky was not written about anywhere in Markson’s books.
     In fact, the only spot where he appears in any of Markson’s novels are his mentions at the very back of the book in Markson’s two Dalkey Archive releases. And this is solely because in the back of their publications Dalkey has a page of “Selected Dalkey Archive Paperbacks” and Louis Zukofsky’s Collected Fictions is one of those listed.
     But in Markson’s actual writing, he is conspicuously absent.
—
     David Markson’s copy of A Homemade World: The American Modernist Writers by Hugh Kenner is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 164 of David Markson’s copy of A Homemade World: The American Modernist Writers by Hugh Kenner:

     On which Markson placed a check next to a mention of writer Louis Zukofsky.

     Louis Zukofsky was an American poet, born just a few months before fictional Leopold Bloom took his fictional stroll.

     Zukofsky, born Jan 23rd, 1904, and died May 12th, 1978, is probably best remembered for his long poem "A".

     "A" is an 826-page poem that took Zukofsky pretty much his entire lifetime to complete.

     He seems like just the kind of interesting yet underappreciated and oft-overlooked writer that Markson would have found things to say about in his Notecard Quartet.

     To my surprise, Zukofsky was not written about anywhere in Markson’s books.

     In fact, the only spot where he appears in any of Markson’s novels are his mentions at the very back of the book in Markson’s two Dalkey Archive releases. And this is solely because in the back of their publications Dalkey has a page of “Selected Dalkey Archive Paperbacks” and Louis Zukofsky’s Collected Fictions is one of those listed.

     But in Markson’s actual writing, he is conspicuously absent.

     David Markson’s copy of A Homemade World: The American Modernist Writers by Hugh Kenner is owned by John Harrison. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © John Harrison.

     Pg. 259 of David Markson’s copy of Pasternak: A Biography by Ronald Hingley:
     On which David Markson placed two lines and a check in the margin next to the following paragraph re: how compared to other Russian writers Pasternak didn’t have it so rough:     “Akhmatova was to carry her resentment of Pasternak beyond the grave. Shortly after his death she exploded with indignation on hearing one of his admirers describe him as a martyr to persecution. This was stuff and nonsense, she told Chukovskaya. Far from being a sacrificial victim, Boris Leonidovich had been extraordinarily lucky. His temperament had ensured that he always enjoyed himself in any circumstances whatever. Almost all his writings achieved publication in the Soviet Union or abroad, and the rest had been eagerly passed from hand to hand in manuscript. Pasternak had always had money; Akhmatova had long been desperately poor. Neither of Pasternak’s sons had ever been arrested; Akhmatova’s son had served long terms in labour camps. One had only to compare Pasternak’s fate with Mandelstam’s and Tsvetayeva’s to see how fortunate he had been. And Chukovskaya could not help reflecting that Pasternak’s sufferings over the Nobel Prize affair had been a mere ‘butterflies’ duel’ in comparison with the persecution of Akhmatova and of Zoshchenko from 1946 onwards.”
—-
     The “Nobel Prize affair” mentioned in the marked paragraph is in reference to Pasternak receiving the prize in 1958, and his subsequent threatening by the Soviet government to the point that he was forced to renounce the prize.
     As Markson puts it in Vanishing Point on pg. 87:     “A reactionary bourgeois award, Pravda called Pasternak’s Nobel Prize.     Which he was forced to decline.”
     And yet, Ahkmatova is right.     Sure, Pasternak didn’t necessarily have it easy—no one would say having to renounce one of the most prestigious awards in the world is easy—but compared to most other Russian writers of the time period, it’s tough to see him as “a martyr to persecution.”
     “The myriad Anna Akhmatova poems, written over decades, which she or friends were forced to immediately memorize.     Because under Soviet rule she was afraid to put them on paper.”     Markson explains on pg. 152 of Vanishing Point.
     On pg. 26 of the same book:     “The fact that Isaac Babel was executed in a Moscow prison cellar.     The strong possibility that the manuscript of a novel confiscated at his arrest still exists in Stalin-era files.”
     Also in Vanishing Point, on pg. 60, Markson makes mention of “the first time Osip Mandelstam was arrested by Soviet authorities.”     The operative word, of course, being first.
     “Osip Mandelstam once wrote a poem criticizing Stalin.     And died in a Gulag.”     Markson quite succinctly put it in This Is Not A Novel on pg. 28.
     Also in that book, on pg. 55:     “In his mid-twenties, Joseph Brodsky was sentenced to five years shoveling manure at the White Sea for what the Soviet Union saw as social parasitism.”
     And on pg. 85 of same:     “Meyerhold was executed by the Soviets.”
     Pg. 10 of This Is Not A Novel also questions the death of Gorky:     “Maxim Gorky died of tuberculosis.     Or was he ordered murdered by Stalin?”
     “Imperialist bourgeois and decadent counterrevolutionary tendencies.     Both Shostakovich and Prokofiev were accused of at one time or another by Soviet authorities.”     Markson writes in The Last Novel, on pg. 19.
     “Through much of her life, Marina Tsvetayeva was forced to endure practically a beggar’s existence. And with her nearest relatives repeatedly imprisoned.     Akhmatova fared little better, confronted by the same family jailings, often subsisting for long periods on little more than black bread.”     Wrote Markson on pg. 53 of Reader’s Block.
    A few pages before that, on 51, a mention of Mandelstam in the Soviet camps:    “Convinced he was being poisoned, Osip Mandelstam may have sometimes stolen food from other inmates in his Soviet prison camp. And been beaten for it. At the end he survived on scraps from a garbage heap.”
     “D. S. Mirsky died in Siberia in one of Stalin’s purges.”     Markson wrote in Reader’s Block on pg. 59.
     On pg. 91 of the same book:     “Irina Ratushinskaya. At twenty-eight, as late as in 1982, sentenced to seven years in the strictest of Russian prison camps.     For writing verse deemed unsuitable to the state.”
     A few pages later on 105:     “Hayim Lenski died of starvation in a Soviet labor camp. Sent there for having written poems in Hebrew.”
     Further on in Reader’s Block on pg. 151:     “Isaac Babel disappeared in one of Stalin’s purges. Nothing whatsoever is known about his death.     Conversely, orders allegedly given by Stalin in regard to Pasternak: Don’t touch the cloud-dweller.”
     “Cloud-dweller.”      Possibly a reference to Pasternak’s poetry collection Twin in the Clouds.     In addition, obviously, to the “head in the clouds” lyrical romantic poet implication.
     The cloud-dweller “a martyr to persecution”?
     I think I’d go with Ahkmatova on this one:     Stuff and nonsense.

     Pg. 259 of David Markson’s copy of Pasternak: A Biography by Ronald Hingley:

     On which David Markson placed two lines and a check in the margin next to the following paragraph re: how compared to other Russian writers Pasternak didn’t have it so rough:
     “Akhmatova was to carry her resentment of Pasternak beyond the grave. Shortly after his death she exploded with indignation on hearing one of his admirers describe him as a martyr to persecution. This was stuff and nonsense, she told Chukovskaya. Far from being a sacrificial victim, Boris Leonidovich had been extraordinarily lucky. His temperament had ensured that he always enjoyed himself in any circumstances whatever. Almost all his writings achieved publication in the Soviet Union or abroad, and the rest had been eagerly passed from hand to hand in manuscript. Pasternak had always had money; Akhmatova had long been desperately poor. Neither of Pasternak’s sons had ever been arrested; Akhmatova’s son had served long terms in labour camps. One had only to compare Pasternak’s fate with Mandelstam’s and Tsvetayeva’s to see how fortunate he had been. And Chukovskaya could not help reflecting that Pasternak’s sufferings over the Nobel Prize affair had been a mere ‘butterflies’ duel’ in comparison with the persecution of Akhmatova and of Zoshchenko from 1946 onwards.”

—-

     The “Nobel Prize affair” mentioned in the marked paragraph is in reference to Pasternak receiving the prize in 1958, and his subsequent threatening by the Soviet government to the point that he was forced to renounce the prize.

     As Markson puts it in Vanishing Point on pg. 87:
     “A reactionary bourgeois award, Pravda called Pasternak’s Nobel Prize.
     Which he was forced to decline.”

     And yet, Ahkmatova is right.
     Sure, Pasternak didn’t necessarily have it easy—no one would say having to renounce one of the most prestigious awards in the world is easy—but compared to most other Russian writers of the time period, it’s tough to see him as “a martyr to persecution.”

     “The myriad Anna Akhmatova poems, written over decades, which she or friends were forced to immediately memorize.
     Because under Soviet rule she was afraid to put them on paper.”
     Markson explains on pg. 152 of Vanishing Point.

     On pg. 26 of the same book:
     “The fact that Isaac Babel was executed in a Moscow prison cellar.
     The strong possibility that the manuscript of a novel confiscated at his arrest still exists in Stalin-era files.”

     Also in Vanishing Point, on pg. 60, Markson makes mention of “the first time Osip Mandelstam was arrested by Soviet authorities.”
     The operative word, of course, being first.

     “Osip Mandelstam once wrote a poem criticizing Stalin.
     And died in a Gulag.”
     Markson quite succinctly put it in This Is Not A Novel on pg. 28.

     Also in that book, on pg. 55:
     “In his mid-twenties, Joseph Brodsky was sentenced to five years shoveling manure at the White Sea for what the Soviet Union saw as social parasitism.”

     And on pg. 85 of same:
     “Meyerhold was executed by the Soviets.”

     Pg. 10 of This Is Not A Novel also questions the death of Gorky:
     “Maxim Gorky died of tuberculosis.
     Or was he ordered murdered by Stalin?”

     “Imperialist bourgeois and decadent counterrevolutionary tendencies.
     Both Shostakovich and Prokofiev were accused of at one time or another by Soviet authorities.”
     Markson writes in The Last Novel, on pg. 19.

     “Through much of her life, Marina Tsvetayeva was forced to endure practically a beggar’s existence. And with her nearest relatives repeatedly imprisoned.
     Akhmatova fared little better, confronted by the same family jailings, often subsisting for long periods on little more than black bread.”
     Wrote Markson on pg. 53 of Reader’s Block.

    A few pages before that, on 51, a mention of Mandelstam in the Soviet camps:
    “Convinced he was being poisoned, Osip Mandelstam may have sometimes stolen food from other inmates in his Soviet prison camp. And been beaten for it. At the end he survived on scraps from a garbage heap.”

     “D. S. Mirsky died in Siberia in one of Stalin’s purges.”
     Markson wrote in Reader’s Block on pg. 59.

     On pg. 91 of the same book:
     “Irina Ratushinskaya. At twenty-eight, as late as in 1982, sentenced to seven years in the strictest of Russian prison camps.
     For writing verse deemed unsuitable to the state.”

     A few pages later on 105:
     “Hayim Lenski died of starvation in a Soviet labor camp. Sent there for having written poems in Hebrew.”

     Further on in Reader’s Block on pg. 151:
     “Isaac Babel disappeared in one of Stalin’s purges. Nothing whatsoever is known about his death.
     Conversely, orders allegedly given by Stalin in regard to Pasternak: Don’t touch the cloud-dweller.”

     “Cloud-dweller.”
     Possibly a reference to Pasternak’s poetry collection Twin in the Clouds.
     In addition, obviously, to the “head in the clouds” lyrical romantic poet implication.

     The cloud-dweller “a martyr to persecution”?

     I think I’d go with Ahkmatova on this one:
     Stuff and nonsense.

     Pg. 73 of David Markson’s copy of Picturing Will by Ann Beattie:
     On which Markson placed a check in the margins next to the first mention of a character who shares his last name:     “History was personified in the form of Luther, a.k.a. Jake Markson from Brooklyn, an overweight overachiever from the Queens College art program whose talent Haveabud knew he could market.”
—
     Ann Beattie wrote:     “No one but Beckett can be quite as sad and funny at the same time as Markson can.”     Only here she is not referring to her character in Picturing Will, but actually to David Markson.
     They were close.
     In fact, she was one of the first people to read Wittgenstein’s Mistress before it was published, as it was being rejected left and right.
     In an interview on The Leonard Lopate Show, Beattie was asked about her falling in love Wittgenstein’s Mistress, and she responded:     “Falling in love is a perfectly okay way to talk about it because in a way the book is an enormous seduction. You know as another writer occasionally you read something that just comes so much from somewhere else that it really just blows you away. You think, you know, this isn’t even any standard to aspire to—I mean this really has nothing to do with what I’ve been reading for most of my life. I think more than just falling in love with it, or whatever, though—and I don’t mean to say this kept me removed from the book—but there was a kind of writerly awe that anybody would dare to be so uncompromising.”

     Pg. 73 of David Markson’s copy of Picturing Will by Ann Beattie:

     On which Markson placed a check in the margins next to the first mention of a character who shares his last name:
     “History was personified in the form of Luther, a.k.a. Jake Markson from Brooklyn, an overweight overachiever from the Queens College art program whose talent Haveabud knew he could market.”

     Ann Beattie wrote:
     “No one but Beckett can be quite as sad and funny at the same time as Markson can.”
     Only here she is not referring to her character in Picturing Will, but actually to David Markson.

     They were close.

     In fact, she was one of the first people to read Wittgenstein’s Mistress before it was published, as it was being rejected left and right.

     In an interview on The Leonard Lopate Show, Beattie was asked about her falling in love Wittgenstein’s Mistress, and she responded:
     “Falling in love is a perfectly okay way to talk about it because in a way the book is an enormous seduction. You know as another writer occasionally you read something that just comes so much from somewhere else that it really just blows you away. You think, you know, this isn’t even any standard to aspire to—I mean this really has nothing to do with what I’ve been reading for most of my life. I think more than just falling in love with it, or whatever, though—and I don’t mean to say this kept me removed from the book—but there was a kind of writerly awe that anybody would dare to be so uncompromising.”

     Pg. 472 of David Markson’s copy of Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson by Camille Paglia:
     On which Markson placed two checks, and wrote a note.
     The first check is next to a mention of Swinburne’s masochistic tendencies (i.e. “he liked to be whipped by women and visited brothels for this purpose”).
     The second check is next to a mention of Sappho’s lover Anactoria (i.e. “a name from the Sapphic fragments”).
     At the bottom of the page, Markson reiterates this notion of Anactoria being a lover of Sappho by writing the simple equation:     “Anactoria = One of Sappho’s lovers.”
—
     I can’t seem to find any reference to Swinburne’s masochism in any of Markson’s texts, nor can I find any reference to his apparent brothel visits in them either, but there is a reference to the lover of Sappho from the above scan in Markson’s Reader’s Block.
     On pg. 171 of that book her name appears devoid of context:     “Anactoria.”
     Anactoria = One of Sappho’s lovers.
     “Anactoria.”
     A name from the Sapphic fragments.
     A name from the Marksonian fragments.

     Pg. 472 of David Markson’s copy of Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson by Camille Paglia:

     On which Markson placed two checks, and wrote a note.

     The first check is next to a mention of Swinburne’s masochistic tendencies (i.e. “he liked to be whipped by women and visited brothels for this purpose”).

     The second check is next to a mention of Sappho’s lover Anactoria (i.e. “a name from the Sapphic fragments”).

     At the bottom of the page, Markson reiterates this notion of Anactoria being a lover of Sappho by writing the simple equation:
     “Anactoria = One of Sappho’s lovers.”

     I can’t seem to find any reference to Swinburne’s masochism in any of Markson’s texts, nor can I find any reference to his apparent brothel visits in them either, but there is a reference to the lover of Sappho from the above scan in Markson’s Reader’s Block.

     On pg. 171 of that book her name appears devoid of context:
     “Anactoria.”

     Anactoria = One of Sappho’s lovers.

     “Anactoria.”

     A name from the Sapphic fragments.

     A name from the Marksonian fragments.

     Pg. 479 of David Markson’s copy of James Joyce: Two Decades of Criticism by Various (Ed. Seon Givens):
     On which Markson placed checks in the margin next to various works on Joyce in the book’s bibliography. (Presumably next to the books he owned?)
     Also: On which Markson wrote next to a mention of William York Tindall’s Forces in Modern British Literature 1885-1946 (which I own Markson’s copy of):     “Also: James Joyce”
—
     On pg. 55 of David Markson’s Vanishing Point:     “There are no English critics of weight or judgment who consider Mr. Joyce an author of any importance.     Said Edmund Gosse, two years after the publication of Ulysses.”
     Just using Markson’s own personal library Edmund Gosse can be proven wrong.
     “I have a shelf and a half of Joyce scholarship.”     Explained Markson in an interview with Alexander Laurence.
     The Joyce Industry, even almost 90 years after the publication of Ulysses, is alive and well.     And there’s one major reason for that:
     “I have to say that Ulysses holds up: it’s a great book. Joyce does everything.”     Markson said further on in that Alexander Laurence interview.

     Pg. 479 of David Markson’s copy of James Joyce: Two Decades of Criticism by Various (Ed. Seon Givens):

     On which Markson placed checks in the margin next to various works on Joyce in the book’s bibliography. (Presumably next to the books he owned?)

     Also: On which Markson wrote next to a mention of William York Tindall’s Forces in Modern British Literature 1885-1946 (which I own Markson’s copy of):
     “Also: James Joyce

     On pg. 55 of David Markson’s Vanishing Point:
     “There are no English critics of weight or judgment who consider Mr. Joyce an author of any importance.
     Said Edmund Gosse, two years after the publication of Ulysses.”

     Just using Markson’s own personal library Edmund Gosse can be proven wrong.

     “I have a shelf and a half of Joyce scholarship.”
     Explained Markson in an interview with Alexander Laurence.

     The Joyce Industry, even almost 90 years after the publication of Ulysses, is alive and well.
     And there’s one major reason for that:

     “I have to say that Ulysses holds up: it’s a great book. Joyce does everything.”
     Markson said further on in that Alexander Laurence interview.

     Pg. 180 of David Markson’s copy of Ezra Pound: Among the Poets by Various (Ed. George Bornstein):
     On which Markson placed a check next to the following:     “When Eliot died on 4 January 1965, Pound, old, sick, and poor, flew from Italy to attend the memorial service at Westminster Abbey. ‘Who is there now for me to share a joke with?’ he wrote in the Eliot memorial issue of the Sewanee Review.
—
     I’ve done a previous post where Markson, in another book, checked the same line from Pound:     “Who is there now for me to share a joke with?”
     It seems like such a perfect line for Markson to use in one of his last four novels, in his Notecard Quartet, yet surprisingly it is nowhere to be found in those four books.

     Pg. 180 of David Markson’s copy of Ezra Pound: Among the Poets by Various (Ed. George Bornstein):

     On which Markson placed a check next to the following:
     “When Eliot died on 4 January 1965, Pound, old, sick, and poor, flew from Italy to attend the memorial service at Westminster Abbey. ‘Who is there now for me to share a joke with?’ he wrote in the Eliot memorial issue of the Sewanee Review.

     I’ve done a previous post where Markson, in another book, checked the same line from Pound:
     “Who is there now for me to share a joke with?”

     It seems like such a perfect line for Markson to use in one of his last four novels, in his Notecard Quartet, yet surprisingly it is nowhere to be found in those four books.