I am kidding. Which is, yes, a stupid attempt at a joke that ties in with the subject of this post, which is that book up there. I love that book. Okay, fine, I hated it at first, then I loved it, and then I got all weird because I felt dumb and then I felt proud because of the outrage that “proved” my dumbness. I am not making sense. Still, Pierre Bayard is a genius who had me reading his How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read twice—the first time because I was curious at this kind of audacity, soon snooty about this kind of stupidity, ultimately bursting with outrage, keening, “This better be a joke!” in a very public place; the second time because I came to my senses and realized my [characteristic] lack of depth: it is a joke (well, a satire), and a rather terrifying, well-argued, and eloquent one at that.
That breathless and inane paragraph is an attempt to say that there is no way I can write about this awesome book, an attempt I will now stop because, well, there is no way I can write about this awesome infuriating, illuminating, humbling, and all-around crazypants book. Good lord, Bayard, if I could type and slow-clap at the same time, I would do so.