I fell in love with Jim Rockford's Los Angeles. Later I discovered the hard-boiled detectives that had populated the streets of L.A. in the 40s and 50s and fell in love all over again. This review echoed a lot of my feelings about literary Los Angeles. My own problem with James Frey isn't that his work isn't spectacular -- his memoirs turned out to be riveting works of fiction -- it's that every time I see him interviewed, I am overwhelmed by his sense of entitlement. Wanna fall in love with L. A.? Read this over a cup of spice tea at Elixir.
No comments:
Post a Comment