Scatterbrain: a letter from hell
The critical poverty of the LRB; the climate emergency; hype-less Italian books; among other things for your amusement
Hello, reader,
I trust this letter finds you well. I shall jump on it, without further ado, a day earlier than usual. Because I can’t wait to be done with it and get in the sea.
The poverty of the LRB
I don’t often go on holidays, and I don’t often buy the London Review of Books. I was talked into the first mistake by my family and made the second one without external intervention, purchasing a copy of the renowned literary journal at a WH Smith in Stansted airport.
I can’t remember the last time I had read the LRB. A long time ago I was a subscriber, thanks to a friend who gifted me an annual sub. During that year most issues were left unopened or were given to the local café, so that they could bolster their cultural capital. I understand that leaving the LRB unopened is a common practice — this could explain the poverty of its content: if you won’t be read by anyone you don’t need to bother trying too hard.