I’m embarrassed to admit this. MT Anderson has long been on my "Authors to Read but Have Yet to Get Around to Actually Reading" list. Yeah, yeah, Octavian Whatever. Printz Honor and National Book Award. I hear ya. But first I had to finish Harry Potter 7, folks.
So MT Anderson, while on radar, kept getting pushed aside as I worked my way through the Class of 2K7 (still working), my kids’ assigned reading, the end of the HP era, and my own long-neglected reading list. I did catch him on an episode or three of Brotherhood 2.0. I could identify him in a lineup if need be. I wasn’t a complete Neanderthal.
Then the man himself decided to visit Kansas City. Time to get cracking, see what all the fuss is. Yesterday I checked out some of his books from the library – Handel, Who Knew What He Wanted; Me, All Alone, At the End of the World; and Feed. You know, just so I look knowledgeable in case an opportunity arises to ask about his work.
Read the PBs to the kids. They loved them. It was all good and nice. And then last night, after everyone was asleep, I popped open Feed.
Now, 98 pages into it, all these swirling thoughts about his genius perspective, brilliant writing skills and the whole Orwellian/Brazil-ian/Vonnegut-esque aspects in my head want to come out somehow, but all I can blurt out is one breathless F-bomb after another.
And I’m barely half-way through.
F*$^.