And by love, we mean the Times Book Review, which sets the stage for an overly precious round of meta-ironic bitching, sent from Dave Eggers to Neal Pollack with love. Once Intern Alexis gets past that load of eye-rolling, she's on to more of the same from Review editor Sam Tanenhaus, who wants you to know that sentences are for artistic appreciation, not understanding. That's the only way, anyhow, that we can explain his invocation of every Jew since Moses to Rocco Ritchie as part of national myth-building. Yeah, we don't get it either, but Intern Alexis at least pretends to understand. After the beloved jump, her weekly guide to acting like you'd know a book if it bit you on the ass.

Letters

In a heartbreaking work of staggering cattiness (Wow - we are back ON, are we not?!), Dave Eggers writes in to the Review complaining that Neal Pollack, in his June 19th backpage essay Persona, fucked up two-fold. First off, contrary to what Pollack remembers, Eggers never uttered the words We re about to enter a new age of literary celebrity. And secondly, according to Eggers, Neal said something nonsensical about literary agent Andrew Wylie that was misleading about his role in the business interests of McSweeney s, and a few people who had never been to Maine or something; it was confusing. Then Neal Pollack replies: I maintain that Eggers did make the statement in question, though there might be some disagreement or misinterpretation about the context. Meeeeeoowww! And by "Meeeeeoowww!" we mean, "yawn." You fight like a girl, Neal! Tell Eggers to quit belittling your fictional argument, diss on San Francisco a bit, and then go back to your drink.


The Golden West: Hollywood Stories
 By Daniel Fuchs
Reviewed by Sam Tanenhaus

When New York Times Book Review editor Sam Tanenhaus writes a review, you can be sure that normal rules do not apply. Tanenhaus can do anything! Like say almost the same thing as Manohla Dargis, in her review of Lion of Hollywood: The Life and Legend of Louis B. Mayer. She sez: Lion of Hollywood is the story of a pugnacious immigrant who sold the American dream so well because it had come true for him. The first- and second-generation East European Jews who built Hollywood created an idealized world where all differences were cast aside in favor of a dream in which everything was beautiful. And then, on the opposite page, in his review of Daniel Fuchs s The Golden West: Hollywood Stories, Tanenhaus sez: Thus did Fuchs s journey parallel that of the moguls, the Mayers, Goldwyns and Cohns, fellow Jews he admired for taking it upon themselves as a public responsibility, no less to help create the national myths. That s a lot of Jews building a lot of dreams and myths. But we s pose that s what we do best.


The Historian
 By Elizabeth Kostova
Reviewed by Henry Alford

Henry Alford is our kind of man; he is nothing if not a big bucket of sass. Read, if you will, excerpts from his review of Elizabeth Kostova s hyped-to-the-max new novel The Historian. He writes, Any time I see a movie that has more than three extreme close-ups of a gold-tipped fountain-pen skritching across a piece of paper I know I m in for a healthy dose of the Romance of the Literary Life, and suddenly I feel irritable and restless, and ready to skin a small animal. According to Alford, the "Historian" romanticizes historians and makes Alford want "to run out to a pharmacy for some antihristomine." He then ends the review with this: If I m wrong, I m wrong. So be it. Bite me. Unfortunately, it appears as if Alford is right. Which makes us sad. Cause we would have liked to bite him.


Let George Do It!
 By George Foreman and Fran Manushkin
Reviewed by John Schwartz

Apparently, George Foreman s children s book about the retardational fact that all of his kids are named George is, well, good! But, points out John Schwartz, There are plugs aplenty to train the tiny consumers-to-be in brand recognition. One George gets his cake recipe from a George Foreman cook book, while another wears a Foreman Youth Center T-shirt. True but this kind of self-promotion can hardly be surprising. George Foreman did name his daughter George after all.