Since Sarah did some digging, I became a bit curious myself. The following review has a very similar feel to McSweeney’s house style. Is it from Eggers?

From “A reader from San Francisco, CA,” February 6, 2004, four stars, for Vendela Vida’s And Now You Can Go:

Unlike some close-minded readers, I found the premise of basing an entire novel around one incident fascinating and was hooked after the first page. However, it was El’s dry wit and sharp, detailed observations that I quickly found I could laugh out loud at and even identify with. The often sarcastic and self-deprecating tone kept me chuckling, even at seemingly serious, inappropriate moments. Unexpected moments like that are what make a story truly stand out to me. This is a terrific first novel that keeps up a swift, satisfying pace, which kept me up, finishing the book late in the night.

I recommend this highly to those who are open to examining a potentially harrowing incident from a fresh, and often very witty, perspective.

[REASONS IT MIGHT BE EGGERS: The obvious reason: Vida is Eggers’ wife. And given how protective he was towards Julavits, he’ll be tenfold so to his main honey. The short-hand reference to “El” instead of “Ellis,” implies greater attention to detail. There’s the implication that other readers are “close-minded” (deliberately misspelled?). The follow-up phrasing, which is very much like Eggers: “and even identify with.” The annoying McSweeney’s modifiers: “often,” “seemingly” and the like. The deliberately awkward phrasing: “Unexpected moments like that are what make a story truly stand out to me” instead of “These unexpected moments made the story stand out.” The extraneous Eggers-like clause after “kept me up” (which already implies that the “reader” stayed up all night).]

The Crimson Petal and the White by Michael Faber: Oh, come on. I’m almost done with you. You’ve been good for about 500 pages. But isn’t this getting a bit anticlimactic? I’ve followed you this far and I’ll finish you, of course. But you can do better than this, even though I still love you. For the most part.

The Fifties by David Halberstam: Lots of info there, pal. Too bad I’m reading another longass book. And a couple of recent dense reads burned me out a bit on history. But I’ll finish you up eventually. You’ve done your homework like a good boy. But what’s up with the “us” shit?

Empire Falls by Richard Russo: Sorry, boss, you’re a bit too simplistic and cartoonish for my tastes. In fact, you resemble a popular novel. But I have to finish you this week for the book club. What were you thinking naming the daughter Tick? And sure, you can move characters around on a chessboard, but I’m a bit puzzled why you won the Pulitzer. The blue-collar people here are fey facsimilies of upper-class upstate types: both in their makeups and their problems. 50 pages in and no one’s hurting. Please tell me, Mr. Russo, that all of your books aren’t like this, and that things will get more effed up here.

American in the Twenties by Geoffrey Perrett: I’m not quite sure why I haven’t jumped into you. You’re sincere, you’re informative, you’re a labor of love. But you’re not quite my cup of tea right now. Maybe we can both blame Halberstam. Can’t wait to get into you, but there’s still this quasi-bronchitis thing. Go figure. Maybe we’ll sleep together sometime this week.

I get sick very rarely, but one thing I do know: the current loss of appetite, aching muscles, headaches, lack of concentration, and weird pain in my alveoli is not normal. Plus, I’m having difficulty putting sentences together and revising dialogue. And I’ll need to rack up some energy for my obligations tonight and this weekend. What this means is probably not much here over the weekend. But for couples, happy Valentine’s Day. And for singles, avoid the propaganda. You’re all sexy too. But you don’t need a partner/date or some Quirkyalone bullshit to affirm this.

In the meantime, check out some of the fine folks on the left, or revel in Lindsayism’s IM conversation or Tom’s description of “the Witch.” Or keep track of the closing days of Will Leitch’s Life as a Loser. (To hell with Dave Sim. Leitch only has seven columns left!)

Sad news from Lusty Lady: Sarah Jacobson has cancer. For those pipsqueaks who weren’t in San Francisco during the mid-90s, Jacobson was a shining beacon in the indie filmmaking community. I saw Mary Jane is Not a Virgin Anymore back in the day, and dug it. All my best to Sarah, hoping she can beat the rap.

Big news from the Times this morning: An Amazon glitch unmasked the psuedonyms of reviewers. One “David K. Eggers” (confirmed to be Eggers) called Believer editor Heidi Julavits’ novel “the best book of the year.” Eggers’ response was put up to counter negative criticisms that he believed to stem from the Underground Literary Alliance. But it turns out that everyday people thought that the Julavits book sucked. Did Julavits author the anti-snark manifesto to prevent not so much “savage” reviews, but the singling out of her own mediocre writing? Most people in this business have thick skins and can simply ignore negative reviews. Furthermore, how ethical is it for a close associate to post a book review because of their own paranoia? The more I hear about Eggers’ shenanigans, the more I am convinced that, behind the “nice guy” image, the talent, and the charity, lies an unethical and highly scrupulous enfant terrible. Then again, much of this impression is, like Eggers’ ULA conspiracy theory, framed on hunches and things I’ve heard from bookstore clerks. The difference is that I’m willing to admit that I might be wrong.

“No man can cause more grief than the one clinging blindly to the vices of his ancestors.” — William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust