Dear John Jeremiah Sullivan,
Stop it. Just, stop. You keep describing these seemingly unappealing men in completely extraordinary ways, and I’m having trouble coming to terms with it. I feel the deepest sympathies for Michael Jackson, am fascinated by Constantine Rafinesque, and have developed a sudden, unwanted crush on the young Axl Rose. Admire the feathery androgyny! And you’ve got me looking up Guns N’ Roses videos on YouTube, and at about 1:15 of each clip, I stop and say, “What the hell am I watching?” [“They were the last great rock band that didn’t think there was something a tiny bit embarrassing or at least funny about being in a rock band.”] I’m two-thirds of the way through Pulphead; I’m sad to see it ending, but it’s a little bit of a relief. I can’t take on any more affection for another one of these awful/amazing men.