Gee, this should help you kill some time at work. Two weeks ago I received a promotional email about a New Yorker event: a reading by Joshua Ferris and Karen Russell. I was excited. But I was also surprised to see that they were touted in the ad as “20 under 40 writers.”
This was a misjudgment. Not growing up — that is, the refusal to put away childish things and indeed to maintain and affirm one’s inner child, even to the extent that it may blossom into an outer child, though with the wrinkled face of a seeming adult—this is in no sense a problem. Childhood is the only source of authenticity in America.