I have refrained from commenting on the "Wonder Bread" article by Melvin Jules Bukiet in The American Scholar, but you may wander through it for your edification here:
I couldn't help but think how much he would probably hate my book, which is full of magical realism (that actually happened in real life, though), but he might be appeased by the actions of some of the folks in The Strega's Story: smoking (cigarettes), drinking, out-of-wedlock pregnancies, adultery, spousal abandonment, betrayals, accidental infanticide, and suicide, among other things (yes, there's positive stuff, too). And, heck, the recipes are pretty good if Bukiet doesn't like the rest of the book. Plus, I'm not a young, hipsterish writer from Brooklyn, just an old bat from Santa Cruz. And I stopped eating Wonder Bread when I was about twelve or so. Besides, who am I to comment deeply on this? I've only read a couple of the books he mentioned. I do dislike the snobby tone of his piece, and the creeping sense that somehow I was being made privy to sour grapes.
Plus, I found a blogster who said just about everything I felt, and in a much sassier way, so I will leave you to click on the link masquerading as the title of this entry and return to reading the collected stories of Kafka (no kidding, this is what I am reading right now).
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