Into the Manosphere—in Manuscripts

Something is wrong with the men. Lord, the men you put on this earth to build houses and hunt game, conquer the Mediterranean, invent democracy and dictatorship, build intercontinental railroads, then retreat to leather-bound libraries and oak-paneled clubs, hold court at cocktail parties and make book deals over three-martini lunches, their names embossed on spines that lined university syllabi, now, at this very moment, these inheritors of conquest and creation are complaining about the disappearance of the Literary Man.