The Sunday paper is out. The Book Review has been devoured. (More praise for Roberto Bolaño!) Curiously (or not so much?), the LAT Book Review is missing the author readings section. A mere trifle, I realize, considering the whole thing will be gone after one final run next week. And they do have the listings online which, let's face it, is the way things are going, no? Yet, it feels hollow to me, this slow dismantling of an institution, a way of life on Sundays or Mondays or even Thursdays...whenever you finally get around to reading the thing.
Slowly leaving bits out feels like the beginning of a break-up. You can see it coming, all the signs are there, the awkward moments increase. The disappointments multiply -- but you just don't want to believe it. So you keep showing up to the dance - hoping against all hope that your lover will realize the error of their ways, see the madness in it all, and change course. Re-commit to the dream.
It seems my love affair with the Book Review section must come to an end. I hear it's cliche cry: "It's not you, it's me." To which I reply: Damn right it's not me!
I do not like this. Not one bit.
