Exposed at: www.literaryrevolution.com
Who can deny it? When I've talked of American literature becoming one unthinking monolithic machine I've been right.
To misquote Burke, I'm surprised 10,000 demi-puppets haven't rushed to Lependorf's defense. But what could they say?
Their ranks are arrayed inside the castle, in glittering finery. Their leaders-- Moody, Gerald Howard, Ben Marcus, Geoffrey O'Brien, Tom Beller, Jon Franzen, and so many others-- sit on impressive steeds. The glow of armor in the sunlight is blinding.
Colored plumes rise from steel helmets! Confident followers ring the inside castle walls, waving silk scarves at the arrogant heroes readied for battle. The mighty horses pace anxiously, their anticipation relieved in bellowing snorts. Outside the walls wait only the vagabond bands of the Underground Literary Alliance. The expensive heroes will stomp them into the dust! Let them out! They await only the opportunity to show the eternal truth of their much-lauded greatness.
The castle gates open; the drawbridge comes down. The heroes put their hands to their scabbards and unsheath their swords-- to find they're toy imitations made out of cardboard.