Novelists for many years now have delighted in wry and slightly bitter portraits of television hosts, movie executives, and the similarly shallow. This is because they despise facile shallowness and inauthenticity, and by wittily and insightfully depicting it may they best reveal and reinforce their own authenticity. This, of course, is something of a joke, as the act of writing a novel to underscore your own realness and integrity is a profoundly vain and shallow act. The truly authentic simply live out their authenticity, they do not write about it. Your humble author, of course, is a singular exception to this rule.
Matteo Sepulvicci, A Whore’s Apartment in Babylon
One Comment
maybe nobody reads because you never write anything. p.s., a tree grows in brooklyn is really good even though you told me it was terrible and boring.
also i just watched the lion the witch and the wardrobe outside on the quad. don’t you wish you were still at bard so you could freeze your ass off getting beat over the head with christianity?
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