Sweet Jesus, please save me from ever having to read another novel about a whiny, middle-aged man who may or not be a scholar, who grew up middle-or upper-class and who’s primary struggle in life is to get laid. Who originated this literary tradition? Because I want to go back in time and break his goddamn fingers so he can’t write this shit. Then I want to find every douchebag who carries on this douchey legacy by writing, publishing, promoting, teaching, studying, and awarding and encouraging this drivel and break all of their fingers and implant them with things that make them unable to use computers. And then I want to throw them all in the ocean (the douchebags, not the computers–don’t want to run the chance of them finding ways to write more drivel under water).

I don’t want to read this crap anymore.