By contrast, the "literary" fiction being written in this country nowadays strikes me as so jejune, self-absorbed and lifeless that I am just about unable to read it, much less pass fair judgment on it.
I am not an expert on on what is being written these days and where, but John Grisham...? Really?
I remember that extremely funny scene in Houellebecq's Platform where the narrator puts one of Grisham's books (if I remember correctly it was The Firm) to good use. After relieving himself of the erotic tension using his hands, okay let's just say it, after jerking off, he ponders: "I ejaculated between two pages with a groan of satisfaction. They were going to stick together; didn't matter, it wasn't the kind of book you read twice."
I was literally rolling on the floor laughing at this ;) I wonder if John Grisham ever read it.
Some very funny and insightful reviews of Platform: Julian Barnes in The New Yorker and one in The Village Voice.
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