Some of meershank’s wittiest writing was done during his wife’s final illness. “Mortality,” he whispered each morning to give himself comfort, “puts acid in the wine.” Other times he said, as he peered into the bathroom mirror, “Mortality puts strychnine in the candyfloss. It puts bite in the byte.” Then he groaned aloud, but only once, and got straight back to work.
His novel of this period, Malaprop in Disneyfield, was said to have been cranked out of the word processor between invalid trays and bedpans. In truth, he wept as he set down his outrageous puns and contretemps. The…
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