For sheer unpredictable brilliance, Gogol may come to mind, but no
author alive today takes a reader as far as Helen DeWitt into the
funniest, most far-reaching dimensions of possibility. Her jumping-off
points might be statistics, romance, the art world's piranha tank, games
of chance and games of skill, the travails of publishing, or success.
"Look," a character begins to explain, laying out some gambit reasonably
enough, even in the face of situations spinning out to their utmost
logical extremes, where things prove "more complicated than they had
first appeared" and "at 3 a.m. the circumstances seem to attenuate." In
various ways, each tale carries DeWitt's signature poker-face lament
regarding the near-impossibility of the life of the mind when one is
made to pay to have the time for it, in a world so sadly "taken up with
all sorts of paraphernalia superfluous, not to say impedimental, to
ratiocination."