While reading his own novel, Micah suddenly realized that he was rather pretentious. Not like Ira Glass pretentious—more like Jonathan Franzen pretentious. Maybe that’s why he’d gone through three different agents in the past four years, despite the success of his book. Maybe that’s why his wife left him, despite the success of his book. Maybe that’s why newspapers and websites remained reluctant to interview him, despite the success of his book.
Micah clapped his book shut. The price of success is high, he thought. His perceived callous snob persona probably sold more copies, he thought. People love a good character, even if they hate that character, he thought.
One day Gena and I decided that Ira Glass has the perfect level of pretentiousness. Think about it.