I don't know why I agonize.

You know, I've been working on my non-fiction book for something like a year and a half and I'm consistently unhappy with it, always trying to make it better, but now I have to question myself.

You see Macaulay Culkin just released this book called Junior, at least I think it's called Junior because even the cover is such a mess that it's hard to tell.

Maybe if my family made it onto Oprah or something, I could just vomit all over paper and call it a book?

This book looks like something they'd publish posthumously. Like if Macaulay Culkin died and they found all of these psychotic journal entries and things written all over his walls and decided that they'd pretend it was coherent. Like that Kurt Cobain book that came out except forced and completely uncool and pretending to actually be a NOVEL!

Kirkus said...

Culkin isn’t particularly concerned with narrative and takes no legitimate stabs at structure. He sticks instead with a rag-tag rambling style, tossing out his offerings like scraps on a trash heap—poems piled atop lists piled atop letters, none of it really compelling, and none of it really going anywhere. All the usual typographical tricks—font-size changes, phrases crossed out, blank pages helpfully labeled “blank”—are brought out in a rather unsuccessful attempt to disguise the basic pointlessness of the exercise.

He told Barbara Walters that he isn't a writer and I wanted to scream, "Then don't write a fucking book!" His reason for releasing it? Because some of his friends thought it was cool.

Let's not forget that Culkin did walk away with most of the millions he made as a kid. Of course your friends thought it was cool! They also think that you should start a band, open a restaurant, direct a movie, run for office, do anything you want because you're a millionaire.