The Wolfeman Cometh

By Sarah Lazarovic

Did that snowman just get up and glide, frail and nimble, away? No, dear reader, you likely just saw a felled Tom Wolfe, freshly decked in crisp, white, three-piece splendour, navigating our treacherous byways en route to a speaking engagement this evening. He does like to get the lay of the land.
In fact, he spent years trying to get the lay of the collegiate land for the book he’s here to talk up, I am Charlotte Simmons.
Did he succeed? Now thinks decidely not. Others tend to agree. Torontoist would chime in too, if we had time to read such reams. Instead, we’ll kindle the memory of Wolfe’s previous literary triumphs, and go along for the ride just to watch a spry old man play cool.
And there’s always a digested read. Also, this sassy cover wouldn’t be ours to behold even if we did decide to buy. Our edition is square squared compared to this Porky’s homage of a British edition.