When an author gets a bad review on a site like this one, which is filled with people who love books, the initial reaction, for me anyway, is rage, followed by disappointment and ultimately sadness. The rage comes from the simple fact that few people are in a position to judge a work of literature, and people who've devoted their lives to the study of literature know this most of all. Too many, far too many, reviewers on this site read absolute and utter garbage, and yet feel empowered to condemn works they don't understand because they never took the time or expended the effort to appreciate Kafka or Nabokov or Shakespeare. And that is very disappointing, to experience the dumbing down of culture, the debasement of beauty, which then leads to a crushing sadness. I don't read garbage nor do I write it. You may not like my book, but you cannot dispute its artistry because I have been at this since the age of 14 and have pursued beautiful prose with serious intent. Reviewers, do us all a favor and demand more of yourselves. Reach just beyond your grasp, as Poe advised us a few weeks before he died penniless.