A question.

How come, whenever I decide to read something that is classified as a landmark of both literary and cultural experience-- Jay McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City, Nick McDonnell's Twelve (debateable in both regards, actually), any Marquis de Sade, and currently Erica Jong's Fear of Flying-- I am struck by how sloppily it is written, from a literary perspective?

I mean, there are reasons for this. McDonnell was eighteen and related to an editor at Sports Illustrated (or something), and this was pretty much the reason his book was published in the first place. It wasn't entirely stupid, but it certainly was hyped. My experience of Marquis de Sade was that of a bad translation coupled with that fact that I didn't really understand how I was supposed to be reading it. McInerney is legitimately awful-- the book is written in second person, which is always, always a mistake. The exception to this rule is Bret Easton Ellis, whose books I always enjoy, despite his tedious Victorian morality (similar to Wes Craven movies).

But I think I expected more from Erica Jong. I'm not sure why. Probably because she is a woman, and I've read some of her poetry. I guess the inane catchphrase 'zipless fuck' should have tipped me off-- the voice in Fear of Flying is vaguely endearing, but the writing itself lacks most substance. There are points where it really improves. But in general, the text does not engage on a deeper literary level, which is completely frustrating and sort of baffling, considering Jong as a parallel figure to Isadora Wing.

Oh well.