Justice Hunger, by Meyer Liben
Meyer Liben is one of those writers who come, as it were, out of the blue. A businessman who retired early because of illness, he began a second career as a writer when he was in his forties and has waited another ten years for the publication of his first book. Certain advantages have followed from this late start. Liben remains an amateur in spirit, though not in performance: he writes because he likes to write, because it is his natural way of expressing himself, of keeping track of the flow of experience, of situating himself in the world. Though an experimental writer, he has none of the mannered obscurity one associates with the term: in technique, his experiments are rather simple, homey ones—an open conversational form, somewhere between narrative and essay, punctuated by headings at the transitional points like the subtitles of the old silent movies. (His fiction somewhat resembles that of Paul Goodman, though Goodman has told me that the indebtedness is his.) It is as though Liben one day dropped in on Literature, found that it was a pleasant place to spend his time, and, having passed the age of intimidation, rearranged the furniture just a bit to make himself more comfortable.
About the Author