Quote:
Originally Posted by Prestidigitweeze
By all means, let's judge novelists by their subject matter and not their level of craftsmanship. That Raymond Chandler -- always writing about detectives. That Joyce -- always droning on about ambivalent bookworms. That Hardy and his tragic heroes. That Edith Wharton and her young women always wishing to enter into New York society. That Virginia Woolf -- always with the Freudian interior monologues. Waiter, this wine is old.
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Those subjects are more palatable in large doses than Roth's penis.
(and I actually like many of his novels)