In theory this is something I would enjoy. It's desperation to seem aware of the art biz is labored and forces a text that could be pleasantly pretentious into one that is awkwardly pretentious. The form of the text, a collection of archival items, is not as productive as it could be. Hustvedt still just writes the novel she would have written and gives each chapter a different attribution.
Damn book club!!!
— Jun 30, 2015 04:00AM
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