Review Review Review
January 13, 2013 § 3 Comments
A couple of things:
I’m not a big reader of nonfiction.
I grew up in Memphis, TN, but I never went to Graceland. By choice.
So imagine the weirdness of suddenly realizing that I’m reading, out loud like a holy incantation, a sentence by Ned Stuckey-French, affirming his belief that Elvis wasn’t by any means, as he puts it, dumb.
What name should we give to that feeling, that light-bulb-going-off realization, when we awake from a pleasurable reading stupor to find that a very talented writer has just caused us to respect—maybe even to like—something which we’d previously disdained? What’s the term for the condition I found myself in, whispering Ned Stuckey-French’s rationalization of Elvis out loud to myself, like it was holy writ? A Writer-on-Artist Lovefest. Meta-Deference.
Thanks for reading!