I fancy myself a critic sometimes. Perhaps it's a by-product of the blog-infested, easily-published Internet reality we have now.

The truth of the matter is that I read as much as I can, though like Witold Gombrowicz, I'm cursed more or less to read only those things that fall into my hands, hence the eclectic nature of the reviews.

Many of the reviews — indeed most — begin as ramblings in my journal that get cleaned up, a bit of mascara thrown on them, then tossed out into the world to fend for themselves.