In the era of blockbuster bestsellers, I wonder if the genre of literature may find itself at risk of extinction. Could literature as an inspiring art form possibly disappear? It would be as if classical music vanished to be replaced by film scores or pops orchestrations. The great writers of the late twentieth century who deeply influenced my own forays into writing fiction include such literary masters as Vladimir Nabokov, Saul Bellow, and Jorge Luis Borges. I no longer read fiction, with one exception—I will still read the prose of the late Thomas Bernhard (d. 1989). This Austrian writer is a craftsman, a wordsmith, an impassioned painter of dark moods, who can construct a sentence as many aspire to and few accomplish.

As a teenager in the 1970s, I was an avid tennis player, and after going to the US Open to watch masters such as Rod Laver or Arthur Ashe, I’d rush home, grab a racket, and head out to the court. When I finished reading the novel by Bernhard, Woodcutters, I was inspired to hurry to my computer to write fiction in much the same way. The novel ends with the narrator running through the city streets, then heading home to commit to paper his thoughts and exploits. When I closed the book, I was inspired to write as well. Bernhard had truly captured the racing thoughts and creative energy it takes to put it down in a poetic way, one that allows others to understand, learn, and to become excited from mental constructions and from keen observation of the human condition.

Bernhard, an Austrian, is not an easy read. He does not use paragraphs and his sentences are often convoluted statements of passion and anger. Much of Woodcutters finds the narrator sitting in a chair, stewing over the dinner party he has been invited to by former art world friends. Half of his great book Extinction takes place as the main character looks out of a window, mulling over the news of his parents’ deaths.

My Prizes, written in 1980 and published in English in 2010, is a nonfiction piece of Bernhard’s. It is a small book of 130 pages, in which he recounts receiving literary and other prizes for his work through the years and the ceremonies given in his honor. It must be noted that Bernhard famously put in his will that none of his plays or other works could be reproduced in Austria until their copyrights ran out; his anger at his home country is always at the forefront. Basically, he suffers through the awards for the collection of the prize money. The anecdotes are often hilarious and entertaining and, as an added bonus, one also learns nice tidbits about the author’s life.

I believe that ultimately, the humor of Bernhard is what makes his works accessible. His anger is so deep, that if he weren’t so genuinely funny, it would be oppressive. Bernhard often writes on two realms that I myself would never touch as an author: blatant hate and suicide. Though I can pepper my characters with anger and deep sarcasm, they will always be blessed with a redeeming positive quality. With Bernhard, his narrators seethe with uncompromising hatred for selfish, hypocritical people, or those who are untrue to true artistic inclination, or cruel in their behavior. Death and suicide of secondary or main characters are often found in his writing. It should be noted that Bernhard suffered most of his life from terrible, debilitating lung ailments, so death was always on his mind.

My favorite novels of his are Old Masters and the book published just before his passing, Extinction. The final rush of ideas in the closing pages of Extinction is an incredible and cathartic end to his literary career and serves as a last dig at his country. Old Masters is a lighter book, easier on the angst, but even the sun itself is not spared an amusing tirade of angry barbs. The main character is an old musicologist who spends hours each day in a Vienna museum sitting in front of a portrait of a bearded man painted by Tintoretto. This was the first book I’d read by Bernhard and it is wonderful literature. If you haven’t read Bernhard, I recommend both Old Masters and My Prizes as a good introduction to him, especially in light of some of his hilarious recollections in the latter.