The new Harper’s Magazine arrived yesterday with a cover story (subscription required) titled “The Last Book Party.” Yes, it’s another article on the death of publishing. Or, I think it is. I can’t get all the way through it for the distracting physical descriptions of every person the writer meets at the Frankfurt Book Fair.
Ira, in a bracingly Windsor-knotted pink tie and smart blue sports jacket , just stepped off the red-eye from New York but looks as though he just stepped out of an extravagant shower.
His jacket is black-and-white checked with a faint periwinkle stripe. His face has been harshly exfoliated, and his hair forms an obedient helmet of brushed-out grays. His pants are black and too shiny, and his tie, with purple and green diagonal stripes, makes me suspect it is one of only three he owns.
Jamie has a leonine aspect, with a high clear brow and soft curls eddying over his …
Enough! Get to the death of publishing already.
But, maybe I’m just put-off by the thought of his potential description of me at this year’s BEA.
Passing a university press booth I see a hulking figure wearing a suit that only escapes the closet once a year and was obviously purchased at one of those lowbrow chain stores found in a Midwestern mall …