In which the exposure of Janet Jackson’s breast provides a platform for “literary criticism”

Barbara Hoffman seems to believe all personal writerly revelations are equal. For the New York Post (I know, I know, but I was reading it over someone’s shoulder on the subway), she equates David Denby’s porn addiction revelations with Jonathan Ames’ essay about contracting genital warts. Thing is, Ames’ writing is hilarious and sad and sometimes poignant, while word has it Denby’s memoir is nothing of the sort.

Seems to me it’s a question of craft, not of the revelation itself.


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