As Nick Richardson notes for the London Review of Books, Saul Bellow’s son, Adam, has his hands full these days. When he’s not maintaining a site devoted to conservative “literature,” he’s extolling the virtues of conservative fiction writers you “probably have never heard of — and won’t, if the powers that rule the lit-crit, fanfic, and commercial publishing worlds have anything to say about it.”
The fuss is currently over John D'Agata and Jim Fingal's clashes over factual accuracy, but frankly I'm tired of hearing about it. Maybe it's because it sounds so reminiscent of David Shields' Reality Hunger (2010). Or, better yet, maybe it's because it sounds so reminiscent of David Sedaris' Naked (1997).