The Birnbaum interview Maud linked to earlier this week got me all riled up. Reading James Wood fills me with a mixture of admiration and irritation. I read him and think, yes, yes, yes. This is so clever; this is so keenly observed; this is so well-put. Clearly, this man is brilliant. And â€“ clearly â€“ from my perspective, this man is wrong. For me, reading James Wood is like being made excellent love to by a man you happen to dislike. You canâ€™t help but like it. But â€“ you donâ€™t like it.
Allow me a couple of digressions in the following posts and then Iâ€™ll get back to Wood.