Posts Tagged ‘Reviews’

The Atlantic Monthly gushes, as their fave show crushes.


They tell us the how and the why of the thing that is True Detective.

Ostensibly, this show on HBO is the best thing going. Now why would I dare agree with that? I don’t. To say something is the best on the telly is telling how good your favorite brand of ketchup would be to my tongue. non compos mentis

The review/advert for the show is so chock full of unrepentant enthusiasm that I would rather not watch it after reading. I’m not going to muse over the difficulties I had with the review, this quote will suffice: “But while the pairing isn’t entirely new, it is nonetheless sublime.” For when one runs out of ideas or angles or anything original you must label something SUBLIME. One must get just how sublime this showing of metaphysicality through police procedural drame is though. Only HBO, the top-tier of Television programming, apparently can muster such a review and such a fawning.

Transparent, A- for overall true to forminess

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How reviews in the current New Yorker display our acceptance yet disgust with the status quo, unremarkable proferring of the occasional best, and the communal longing for our own Golden Age

Here are the requisite links:



Inside Llewyn Davis and American Hustle are reviewed above by the New Yorker. Which if read, leads one to believe they’re being cheated by Hollywood and the New Yorker. Where is our golden age? We might shout this out and hear nothing, except this whine of a subtle notion that we are cheated by the formulaic genres now entombed on the screen for us each week. But if you consider that the Hollywood motion machine has been around a century and some change, you can then understand that this certain contemporary vibe is all a collective farce and the rule of thumb would then be: keep them happy and talking about it.

How do we move forward from this sad state of affairs? I don’t know, nor care.

Verdict: The Utmost Transparency

Evan Kerry


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Chapter 1: In which an inveterate misanthropic blogger is ordered to halt his unneeded services.

Lee Siegel I wuv you. Male or Female. Human or Transient, Sentient, OmniCritical Being. You have made my life worth living again.  Just when I was getting depressed about kicking galley proofs and taking names, here, HERE you crop up and alter my melancholic, miasma of coherent blogging. I’m quite thrilled to be of the nameless masses. The man-in-the-street, the decidedly unapologetic, man without authority and bastard of the internets. (Pardon this thunderous, abject tone, one must be forgiven in this day and age of ante-whatever age is coming next nothingness) Lee Siegel I wuv you, for writing this:


The initial thrust of the article is to bury hatchets and then it disintegrates to name dropping and a host of other unpardonable sins. I think Siegel in his new found giddiness of discovering Happy Land or Paxil, has forgetten what most will not say. The largest portion of things being published are bad, unreadable, and therefore a monstrous waste of time. This in turn fuels the negativity of reviewing. Sure, Sure his reasons for the coterie of intellect here and there are entertaining, however a bad book unjustly, modestly and generously judged only harms. More to the point, the reviews aren’t the hatchets, the books they concern are. A prime example, for all of its degrees of facility both academic and peer-reviewed is that wunderkind of a website, the ever bravish, Bostonish, bespectacled, variety internet show http://www.themillions.com   If one is interested in trends of the literary, go there. If not, anywhere but. For there will be found all sorts of gladhanding, kidgloving and other preciosity of the nice sort. My stomach has turnt in the mentioning. But that is all fine fare, unless of course your name is B.R. Myers. Conferment of the authors of that website aside, we turn back to Lee Siegel. I hope against hope that you never write anything again.


Evan Kerry




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It has always been the unique art of the critic, other than critiquing, to revive the forgotten. In a recent issue of the Times Literary Supplement we can see this in full effect. 

To pump the book with the magazine is stated below. This, though,is a special slab of the facade of the house of Fame. The victim this appearance is one Gerald Kersh. The fact that he pumped the pulps from his pen is especially noteworthy and probably the reason you should even bother with this, the review in the TLS, and his work.

The Link is here:


First we are told what he accomplished and so forth, and then how he was forgotten. Somewhere in the middle of all of this highbrow reclamation the critic will namedrop either admirers of, or who the lost author happened to esteem. Which is grand and brilliant and every thing you can apply to it. And yet, I feel cheated by all of this. I don’t need a retelling and reconstruction of the dead. A simple blurb will suffice. The practice is tantamount to re-spoking the wheel and frankly it is old hash. The amount of labor spent on things like this is better left to sorting through the new dreck being published and telling us what to attend to.


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