This novel is quite satiric, so the story of an author who is labouring endlessly on a novel that just gets longer and longer despite his best attempts to bring it to a conclusion, isn’t painful, even though it hits uncomfortably close to home.
So, for that matter, does the interwoven (I’m not sure, I’m not actually far enough to see how this is going to tie together and play out) story of the confused, suicidally depressed writing student fascinated by the tawdry Golden Age of Hollywood who the protagonist recognizes as talented but can’t find anyone, in or out of class, who actually likes and wants to read what he writes.
At least they’re productive.
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