Some books look outward, and describe the world at large. They bring new insights into the search for knowledge, they illuminate our understanding of the world.
This is not such a book.
This is a book of essays about books about essays and other books about essays. It's a attempt to cram as many literary references into each sentence as possible, so the only person who will have ANY IDEA what the author is talking about is the author himself. It is obsessively and compulsively self-absorbed, self-reflective, navel-gazing verbal masturbation. The author dissects Finnegans Wake for christ's sake. There is NOTHING outside the book that has any bearing whatsoever on what's inside the book. Reading the book will not make you smarter about anything -- except what's in this particular book.
There was a time, in my life, when I might've had time for such a book.
I bought it, on a whim, off the remainder table at my local bookseller because the title was intriguing. I've listed it on Amazon for more than I paid.
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