As you may know, I listen to the New York Times Book Review podcast every week. It’s really worth while. Now, if I could only figure out how to work for them…
Anyway, toward the end of the podcast, they had a bit about Richard Ford and novelists who review (and pan) his work.
Apparently (according to the story, legend, myth, take your pick) a publicist sent him a copy of a novel for the purpose of a book-jacket blurb. But the novelist had written a negative review of Ford’s book, so Ford had his wife take the book out back and shoot it with a pistol. And then, here’s the kicker, he requested another copy so he could shoot it himself.
Now, if the publicist had been worth his or her salt, the blurb would have come from the phone call requesting the second copy. And the book jacket would have said something like,
“…gratifying…a blast…” R. Ford.