|
If you, as I am, are convinced that Eliot is wrong in his endlessly negative and despairing view of the human condition then read this book. Taking as a starting point a healthy disrespect for 'The Wasteland' Rowson pokes fun at the poem by rewriting it as a sort of noir thriller in the tradition of Philip Marlowe. Eliot is pompous, dense and inherently wrong. This version is the antidote.
|