I usually am not a fan of books about writers. Especially when the book is about a writer who is writing a book about a writer, who is probably writing a book about a writer. It’s just too confusing. The only time this is acceptable is on the Stephen Colbert Show when he stands in front of a portrait of himself & in the portrait there’s a picture of him standing in front of his portrait, so on & so forth. However, there was one chapter in this book that made the entire thing worthwhile, & I’m not telling you which one.