Back when I still had a touching faith in the discernment of the New York Times Book Review, I’d read Edna O’Brien and Anna Quindlen and Margaret Drabble, and I wasn’t sure I ought to be questioning the taste of my betters, but was slowly growing doubtful of the form.
My response is that if it's on the NYT Best Seller list, it's probably trash. lol
Same kind of thing happening in popular fiction as what happened with TV... Jerry Springer-ism. A lowering of life and of thought and of talent and of creativity and of depth... etc.
But my dear, I don't think you realize the gift you have-- I'm not trying to fawn over you or suck up or anything like that, because that's not what I do. But honestly, your writing is superb. It's a GIFT, you have it, and you give it to us. Thank you.
I started to have a nagging feeling 20 years or so that the purpose of popular art and fiction wasn't to hypnotize or numb us but to crush our spirit and drive us to despair, and to find cynical pleasure in competing with each other for who was the more jaded vampire that could withstand, say, child pornography or gang rape with a bemused smile.
My response is that if it's on the NYT Best Seller list, it's probably trash. lol
Same kind of thing happening in popular fiction as what happened with TV... Jerry Springer-ism. A lowering of life and of thought and of talent and of creativity and of depth... etc.
But my dear, I don't think you realize the gift you have-- I'm not trying to fawn over you or suck up or anything like that, because that's not what I do. But honestly, your writing is superb. It's a GIFT, you have it, and you give it to us. Thank you.
I started to have a nagging feeling 20 years or so that the purpose of popular art and fiction wasn't to hypnotize or numb us but to crush our spirit and drive us to despair, and to find cynical pleasure in competing with each other for who was the more jaded vampire that could withstand, say, child pornography or gang rape with a bemused smile.