Incestuous Reality

November 27, 2010


I was reading an article in the New York Times about an author’s new book (forgot her name) who talked about her book being like The Ambassadors by Henry James, in reverse. She talked about how much she read. And appreciated  Henry James. And then I read somewhere else how James spent so much of his time reading other authors.

I am not going to suggest that writers shouldn’t read but this all sounds like incestuous reality. Worlds created reflecting  other world’s created. Fantasies about fantasies. The maze of the ivory tower. Literature as an end in itself.

Writers should not be allowed to get jobs in colleges and universities. Get a job on the assembly line. Or the mall. Or an airport. Thank God for Hemingway.

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