Russell Edson (December 12, 1928 – April 29, 2014) was an American poet, novelist, writer, and illustrator. He was the son of the cartoonist-screenwriter Gus Edson.
He studied art early in life and attended the Art Students League as a teenager. He began publishing poetry in the 1960s. His honors as a poet include a Guggenheim fellowship, a Whiting Award, and several fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.
Russell Edson was born in Connecticut in 1935 and lived there with his wife Frances. Edson, who jokingly has called himself "Little Mr. Prose Poem," is inarguably the foremost writer of prose poetry in America, having written exclusively in that form before it became fashionable. In a forthcoming study of the American prose poem, Michel Delville suggests that one of Edson's typical "recipes" for his prose poems involves a modern everyman who suddenly tumbles into an alternative reality in which he loses control over himself, sometimes to the point of being irremediably absorbed--both figuratively and literally--by his immediate and, most often, domestic everyday environment. . . . Constantly fusing and confusing the banal and the bizarre, Edson delights in having a seemingly innocuous situation undergo the most unlikely and uncanny metamorphoses. . . .
Reclusive by nature, Edson has still managed to publish eleven books of prose poems and one novel, The Song of Percival Peacock (available from Coffee House Press).
I want to give this 5 stars, but his poetry is what has makes him special. The reason why I wanted to give this 5 stars is that these being plays and filled with mostly dialog, Edson thrives on the manner in which humans speak to each other and the meanings that we put into speech and the meanings that we extract from others speech. I don't believe that the latter is made as clear as it should be being that these are plays. Russ has a way with words and I love seeing these words represent communication and semantics through dialog of these 4 plays.
It is prose poetry that has deservedly given fame to Russell Edson, but this collection of four plays is definitely worth reading too.
Curiously or not, it is the book’s title play –“The falling sickness”– the one I liked the least, even though it is enjoyable in general and have some characteristic Edsonian elements, such as the irrational family issues, transvestism and, above all, absurd. However, this command of the absurd as an existentialist theme becomes more evident in the other three plays, of which I particularly liked “The Children” and “Ketchup”.
There are some really brilliant moments throughout the plays, both from a philosophical and from a comical point of view. Despite the years that have passed since it was published, I believe that the book does not disappoint Edson’s staunchest fans, at the same time it can be read and enjoyed by a larger public without necessarily losing much of its charm.
Wild and weird. Slapstick David Lynch? I love that he goes where you aren't supposed to go. And then dances away. Ketchup mixes with blood. It would have been electric to see these in the 1970s. Now, oddly, I think they would feel like something that would shock us in the 1970s.