Further to this post on Philip Roth at 80, here are two more links about the great man: James Wood chooses him as his hero, and refers in doing so to one of the funniest moments in Roth's work, from The Ghost Writer; David Remnick gives an account of the 80th-birthday celebration for Roth, featuring along the way the word 'paralipsis' and examples of the type of speech-act to which it refers. (Both links via @bombaylychee.)
I'd like to add a more personal connection I have to Roth. As I'm limited for options, I'll use the only one I've got, beyond having read his books. (Well, it is late afternoon on Saturday.) I met Philip Roth the other day. It was in a dream. But it was really him and we really were meeting. I couldn't believe it. Suddenly there he is, standing right in front of me. 'It's you,' I exclaimed. He just smiled. The thing is, though, we got on a treat; so much so that we were going to meet again later for a meal. And then I woke up.
It doesn't often happen to me that I'm sorry to wake from a dream. My dreams usually express worries of one kind or another, translated into semi-coherent narrative form. But on this occasion, gee, was I disappointed! It was the first time I'd ever met a world-famous writer while asleep. I expressed my dismay to Adèle, who was both amused and sympathetic. If you'd been there and seen how vivid it was - which isn't true of all dreams, let's face it - you would also have sympathized. Anyway, that's Philip Roth and me.