At heart, I’m a conspiracy theorist who thinks that scathing reviews are orchestrated for attention, but Kakutani’s New York Times review of Jonathan Franzen’s new memoir is too much:
“Just why anyone would be interested in pages and pages about this unhappy relationship or the self-important and self-promoting contents of Mr. Franzen’s mind remains something of a mystery. In fact, by the end of this solipsistic book, the reader has begun to feel every bit as suffocated and claustrophobic as Mr. Franzen and his estranged wife apparently did in their doomed marriage.”
Ouch. Maybe people will read this book who, like my sister once said about watching the losers on the Jerry Springer show, want to feel that their lives are a bit happier than someone elses.
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