When I was in graduate school, I had a friend who was writing a novel about nothing. That was decades before "Seinfeld," a famous sitcom about nothing.
In those days the Fugs had a striking song out with memorable lyrics: "Monday nothing, Tuesday nothing, Wednesday lots more nothing." (You can find the Fugs on YouTube.)
My friend's novel was set in a small midwestern town (as I recall) in which the citizens feared nothing. In this fiction, nothing mattered. The civil authorities were asked to prepare for nothing. And then nothing actually happened. And so on.
That first two chapters were memorable, but my guess is my friend never finished his project. That was a long time ago. We were in revolt against a war. And some thought that nothing was sexist.
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