How can you not love poetry on the topic of ennui? Tottenham is so dry and funny, he makes of lassitude a noble, or at least highly sympathetic, endeavor. Not since Bartleby the Scrivener, with which this has a great deal in common, does the refusal to scuttle about and reach for the goals that are laid out for us as what we should want, feel so sensible. I think it's a great book about writing, because it's in large part the poetic inner sanctum of authorly self-loathing. What's great about Tottenham--is that it's the perfect antidote to the "don't think bad thoughts" spiritual gogetterism. I'm not advocating lassitude as a way of life--but SO refreshing!!!!