Disclaimer: I have no business opining on literary criticism. Namely because this job has rendered me barely literate. Also because the piece I'm about to address with you is written by an old colleague — Choire Sicha — discussing the book of someone I also know — Keith Gessen — and the distinctly New York phenomenon dredged up by his book All The Sad Young Literary Men, which is to say, Dudes Who Write: Why Do They Irritate Us So? Today in the Observer Choire wonders why they all suck so much compared to Joan Didion and Marilyn Robinson. He blames their (small) penises; in a response Choire's old subordinate (and my friend; and Keith Gessen's ... oh Jesus, as she says, "Google it") Emily Gould argues that they are simply too attractive; subjected as they are for the first time to the shallow standards and expectations of what I call the American Titocracy. Like Choire and Emily, and the other Observer writer who also today bemoaned — or celebrated; I don't know — our generation's acceptance of its own "cuteness" as manifested in the way we've taken to short skirts and supporting Barack Obama with our wholest of half-formed hearts — I have complicated thoughts.