grandstanding critics who are using the publication of Foer’s book as an occasion to make sweeping, poorly-reasoned proclamations [against all experimental and postmodern fiction] that are informed (somewhat ironically) by their own narrow aesthetic tastes. In short: Your pal is irked by absolutism in all forms. These are trying times for friends of nuance; do we really need to help things along with such penurious crit?
See also: Pomo R.I.P.: “We Are the Dead (for Donald Barthelme)”