The Truth about Writing

The author holds a myopic view of books and writing, disdaining anything which isn't lowbrow. This note grinds away persistently underneath the text, constantly irritating. He has staked out his little enclave of interesting books and defends it, never aware that he is confusing anything elevated and challenging with pretentiousness. Somehow if one likes Stephen King or James Patterson this precludes a love of Tolstoy or Vollmann. Or so the author implies. What saves the book (and confuses the reader) is the obvious intelligence of the author and his ability to write well, the stuff of the very books he derides. Despite it all, Michael Allen is an interesting writer. I just wish he saw a little more.