In the film, when asked about his work by Professor, Writer answers, “One should write about ‘absolutely nothing,’” Dyer writes.
But Dyer is one of those rare writers whose gift is communicating, instructing, how to see.
The film is also excruciatingly boring, which, I suspected before reading the book, was what drew Dyer to it.
But Dyer, in all his wide range—four novels and six, yes, genre-defying works of nonfiction—can indeed be classified.
Whatever genre Dyer tackles, critical study, novel, travelogue, his true subject is generally, charmingly, Geoff Dyer.
The Dyer mixes his dyes for the coloring of tons of valuable silk and the artist paints under this artificial light.
But your mind is artificially coloured: it comes from the Dyer's.
There comes the Dyer from the station now—you'd better quit!
I am heartily glad that you and Mrs. Dyer are going to have a holiday.
After five minutes the wood is washed, and grained with acetate of iron (the ordinary iron liquor of the Dyer) at 20° Tw.