Lone Literary Geek Decides to Hate Sloane Crosley
Written by Edward ChampionPosted on April 1, 2008
Filed Under April Fool
As reported this morning by Slunch, it has become almost impossible to hate Sloane Crosley. Until now. Josie Harris, a 34-year-old paralegal, has decided enough is enough, and has decided to commit her energies to hating Sloane Crosley.
“There is nobody in the literary world I despise more than Sloane,” said Harris. “Nobody can be that fucking nice all the time.”
What’s considerably astonishing is that Harris came out as a Crosley hater despite being on a considerable daily regiment of antidepressants.
But is Harris simply being contrarian?
“No. I read two sentences that Sloane wrote in the Village Voice and I was so angry that it caused me to place my pet hamster in the microwave and watch it explode. This is not a common reaction that I get from writers. But Sloane’s words caused me to do this. I was depressed for weeks. And I blame her for running me over the edge.”
Harris plans to advance her protests further. Mass book burnings of I Was Told There’d Be Cake, followed by a giant Sloane Crosley effigy in front of the Random House building. She has also issued an open challenge to enter into a kickboxing match with Crosley. Crosley, however, has not responded.
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Beyond Heaving Bosoms by Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan. The famed writers behind
Alice Fantastic by Maggie Estep. This wild and highly enjoyable narrative involves two sisters (presumably, the third one was still being rented out by Chekhov), a hippie ex-junkie mother who lives with seventeen dogs, a murder, gambling, and libidinous Hollywood actresses who live in Woodstock. But this is the wonderful Maggie Estep we're talking here. And what seems at first like a quirky yarn becomes something unexpectedly moving about connectivity. What I love about Estep's work is the way that she'll juxtapose an extremely astute observation (now that you mention it, why do cab drivers always have somebody to talk with on the phone past midnight?) with an often outrageous story development.
Generosity by Richard Powers. It doesn't come out until September 29th, but Richard Powers's latest will have anyone committed to books reconsidering their literary fervor. I foresee some animosity from the vanilla critics hostile to idea-driven novels, but book bloggers, YouTube chroniclers, and MFAs would do well to plunge into this chance-taking narrative, which introduces vital questions about what the reader's relationship is with media, scientific dissection, and "creative nonfiction." Are we rats fleeing to happy cities? Or can we find the humanism within the purported plague?
Pieces for the Left Hand by J. Robert Lennon. Lennon is one of the most underrated fiction writers working today. Much as On the Night Plain proved that Lennon had a lot more in the toolbox than heartfelt (and often very funny) suburban satire, this slim but fascinating volume juxtaposes 100 small-town anecdotes -- arranged by category -- in a manner that reads, at times, like Nicholson Baker's passions for minutiae and, at other times, Stewart O'Nan's concern for psychological detail. The result is fiction that makes us wonder about whether one person's subjective view of particulars can entirely be trusted. This book never found a publisher in 2005. But thankfully, Graywolf has released it in the United States, along with Lennon's latest novel, The Castle.
Wonderful World by Javier Calvo. This wonderfully raucous volume has been completely ignored by the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times. But it's probably one of the most delightful reading experiences I've had this year. Calvo cavalierly mashes up multiple genres and manages to mix up familial subtext with larger-than-life, almost cartoonish characters. (Indeed, one might argue that one mobster's penis is a character of its own in this sprawling novel.). This is not an easy thing to pull off, but Calvo makes it work. And it's helped immeasurably by Mara Faye Lethem's idiom-specific translation. (
The Means of Reproduction, Michelle Goldberg This thoughtful book tackles the complicated (and little discussed) subject of reproductive rights from numerous angles, which includes a number of unpleasant but necessary ones. The upshot is that there isn't a quick fix solution for declining birth rates and fundamentalist abuses. Just about every political faction has contributed to the friction. But you'll want to read this book anyway to refamiliarize yourself with the topic, but also to understand just what's occurred during the past several decades to get us where we are today. (
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Here’s my problem with her, and i’m just 17.
I am her, and I’m just 17.
She writes like a teenager that’s trying too hard to sound cute. She’s trying to fit into some trendy demographic but just falls out of place, despite of the references to her “pot dealer by night and paralegal at a major law firm by day” boyfriend’s minor coke habit. Shut up. She also brags a lot, and throws in a lot of subtle references to her naturally-skinny body. It’s unnecessary especially considering her really big head. She’s clearly trying to combine pseudo-hipster references along with fashion-esque standards that don’t make her look like too much of a feminist while maintaining a literary charm. Sadly, she’s not cool enough to be sub-cultured or pretty enough to win us over, nor is she “clever.” Well, not for The Cool Kids anyway. Sloane is just out of high school and probably grateful that her skin has improved. Good for her. I feel a lingering sense of guilt for trying to get away with sh*t like that in my high school creative writing class. It’s THAT obvious. I can’t for when I grow up.
Here’s my problem with her, and i’m just 17.
I am her, and I’m just 17.
She writes like a teenager that’s trying too hard to sound cute. She’s trying to fit into some trendy demographic but just falls out of place, despite of the references to her “pot dealer by night and paralegal at a major law firm by day” boyfriend’s minor coke habit. Shut up. She also brags a lot, and throws in a lot of subtle references to her naturally-skinny body. It’s unnecessary especially considering her really big head. She’s clearly trying to combine pseudo-hipster references along with fashion-esque standards that don’t make her look like too much of a feminist while maintaining a literary charm. Sadly, she’s not cool enough to be sub-cultured or pretty enough to win us over, nor is she “clever.” Well, not for The Cool Kids anyway. Sloane is just out of high school and probably grateful that her skin has improved. Good for her. I feel a lingering sense of guilt for trying to get away with sh*t like that in my high school creative writing class. It’s THAT obvious. I can’t wait for when I grow up.