While the writing was as brilliant as ever, I found myself less captured and transported by the book than Paris to the moon. In that sense a little disappointed. The essay on his friend Kirk Varnedoe and the Mighty Metrozoids was beautiful and true.
Read one, and weep with laughter. And then read them all. And then in five or ten years do it again.
Forced myself to finish out of respect for the author and wanting to see it somehow come together. Despite some truly amazing images, and demonstrations of language genius (how else to describe what he does?) it just never worked for me. Felt kind of self indulgent by the author.....