Bruce Watson: The Last Book I Loved, White Noise
In the mid-1980s, I fled Ronald Reagan’s America for the jungles of Costa Rica. Before leaving–forever, I thought–I shipped two boxes of paperbacks to the tropics. I would soon read every book from those boxes plus anything else I could grab in hopes of explaining a world gone mad.

So this guy I know, a guy I like, whose brain has not atrophied or anything, says to me the other night, “Books have lost their social relevance; they have been entirely subsumed by economy, and their material form is fast approaching its own demise.”