Novelist, poet, essayist, gourmand and angler Jim Harrison died yesterday evening, apparently of a heart attack or stroke, at his home in Patagonia, Arizona.
Harrison’s imaginative personality was too big for words, and yet he chose words as his way of gifting it to us. One of his favorite writing mechanisms was the elegant dismissal of prowess. “How is it macho that I like to hunt and fish? I’ve been doing it since I was four,” he once said in a Paris Review interview. And yet he was as powerful a writer as anyone of his generation.
Read MidCurrent publisher Marshall Cutchin’s tribute: “Considering Harrison.”
The New York Times featured a question-and-answer with Harrison just over a week ago.