Dead at 91. I remain a fan, even of the late Glass Family stuff, even of "Hapworth 16, 1924." I actually have a hand-assembled, hand-photocopied collection of every single uncollected story, spiral-bound by Kinko's in the late '90s, before all that stuff could be read online. Most of them aren't very good, but a few are okay, and "Hapworth" is a real trip.
So is our curiosity about what the hell he's been doing for forty years going to be satisfied at last? Or will his obsessive privacy infect his descendents? Will the rumored notebooks and chest filled with finished novels be ritually destroyed in a massive bonfire over which his loved ones will roast his favorite health food items skewered on the end of maple twigs? Or will the publishing world get its way and embark on a decades-long fusillade of unedited garbage?
My hope of course is that he's been writing really good books and that we will get to read them. But a writer who shuns the supporting armature of editors and publishers rarely does very well on his own. We'll see. Or not.