It's A Terrible Thing For A Book,

Some Of The Comments On Youtube Make You Weep For The Future Of Humanity Just For The Spelling Alone, Never Mind The Obscenity And The Naked Hatred.

And I'm Not As Young As I Once Was. At My Age, I Don't Have Time To Be Bored.

I'm Happy To Report That 'the New Press' Is Still In Business To This Day. But Not Thanks To Me. I Was A Really Bad Publishing Intern.

The Real World Is Horrible.

The Idea Of Some Kind Of Objectively Constant, Universal Literary Value Is Seductive. It Feels Real. It Feels Like A Stone Cold Fact That In Search Of Lost Time, By Marcel Proust, Is Better Than A Shore Thing, By Snooki. And It May Be; Snooki Definitely Has More One-star Reviews On Amazon. But If Literary Value Is Real, No One Seems To Be Able To Locate It Or Define It Very Well. We're Increasingly Adrift In A Grey Void Of Aesthetic Relativism.