I have written it, therefore it must be true.
I have made attempts to read Bellow’s Herzog, repeatedly, because Martin Amis told me to, and it was boredom marinated in misogyny. DeLillo’s White Noise was boredom marinated in boredom with a dash of “I should like this, I should like this, why can’t I make myself like this?” plus a sprinkling of “‘The Airborne Toxic Event’ is a really great phrase; is it enough to have made the book worth reading?” (answer: probably) all wrapped up in a pile of legwarmers and other dated clothing. It may have also been misogynist, but I was too bored to tell. The misogyny is not the problem. Milan Kundera, for example, has always seemed to me to be quite the misogynist and his books are great. Which is incredibly annoying.
The sick and twisted, but curious, parts of my personality (at 4 percent, a minority group, but a surprisingly aggressive and motivated one, like Orthodox Jews or crows) wants to read books by all these authors so I can know for sure just how stupid it is to read them. These are the same parts, incidentally, that used to compel me to read only the one-star reviews of books I loved on Amazon.com. Sample review of Kavalier & Clay: “I think that it is written for those with a jewish backround. I just didn’t understand all his judaic references. (Would someone please tell me what a Golem is?)” Ha! Somebody didn’t watch season 4 of The X-Files. Okay, I still indulge in that agita-inducing behavior from time to time. Also, I will throw a bucket of water over your head if you wear pants in my neighborhood. If you don’t know what I’m talking about then you—like the above reviewer—haven’t spent nearly enough time in Jerusalem. Or around crows.
In conclusion, a golem is a mud-based creature from Jewish folklore, and I am a scale-based creature from Japanese pop culture who should perhaps take a time-out from terrorizing civilians in order to read Slaughterhouse-Five. And on that day, I will become a man.