In retrospect, I think I really took it easy in my review the other week of Honor Levy’s My First Book and I’ve been kicking myself about that since then.
I reviewed My First Book kind of the way I would review anybody else’s book — as a good faith attempt at art that didn’t really work out. But, as I was posting and reading through some of the other reviews of Levy (I read reviews only after I’ve written my own text), I started to get a more canny understanding of what was really going on. This piece in The Face has most of the grisly story and some of the rest of it is figure-out-able from this much-reviled profile in New York Magazine.
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