You may have missed it, but “City on Fire” was the US literary publishing
event of last year – according to all the most important press (the New Yorker,
the New York Times – not the Post, I’m proud to say, whose headline called it “A
steaming pile of literary dung.” Or in text, “The only thing ‘City on Fire’ will
burn up is the remainder tables”).
In her review of the steaming pile, which set back the publisher
a cool $2 million, critic Elisabeth Vincentelli gives us cause to feel the way
she does by quoting a sentence from the book itself, to wit:
“Against the flames, Felicia’s body was a smudge, save for
her mask, whose red sequins shimmered intelligently.”
Two months later, a second critic, Carmen Petaccio, delivers
the goods in The Awl. This you have read to believe. For hours of giggly fun,
click here: http://bit.ly/1ZRX8GY
As to my personal favorites of Petaccio’s literature police
takedown, consider:
“The sun over Jersey was medium rare.”
“Hairs snowed crimson on the formica.”
“Looks like you got a real shitstorm on your hands, Pulaski.”
And the piece de resistance of schadenfreude delight,
“Great rolls of toilet paper arc like ejaculate through the
black sycamores.”
Next: Running for
Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday
