1/ Donald Barthelme, “For I’m the Boy” (1964):

The bottle was old and dirty but the brandy when Huber returned with it was tasty in the extreme.

2/ Grate­ful Dead, “Brown-Eyed Women” (1971):

The bottle was dusty but the liquor was clean.

This is one way to look at it.

Here’s another: Gawker is to Keith Gessen what Gary Baum was to Dave Eggers.

Granted, the anal­ogy is a stretch, since Gawker pro­fesses none of the open adu­la­tion that Baum had for Eggers. But con­sider this, from Gessen’s 2001* arti­cle on Baum and his FoE! Log. Not only does it read like a recipe for Gawker, but it’s fur­ther proof–as if Gessen’s novel weren’t proof enough–that the fate of sad young lit­er­ary men has always been his subject:

The Log was about fame: the fame that Eggers had and the fame that Gary wanted. It was about the wages of such fame, its con­di­tions, its uses. There were occa­sional lit­er­ary quo­ta­tions in the Log, but they were not from Eggers’s books; there were ref­er­ences to lit­er­ary fig­ures, but only inso­far as their careers were con­cerned. Larger ques­tions were being dealt with here. How does one take the enor­mous appa­ra­tus of celebrity-​creation and force it to do one’s bid­ding? How does one, to put it more suc­cinctly, con­quer the world?

It was a good ques­tion, a Balza­cian ques­tion. And one was struck by the opti­mism of it, the inno­cence. I kept asking Gary whether he’d become dis­en­chanted by the dirty secrets of the lit­er­ary world, whether he still thought it a world worth con­quer­ing. He wasn’t, and he did. Because though Gary proved beyond the doubt of any rea­son­able reader that lit­er­ary fame, and lit­er­a­ture, is a vast and intri­cate con­spir­acy, the trick of the Log was that it wasn’t a con­spir­acy he abhorred. He wanted in, he merely wanted in.

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*Note: The arti­cle was orig­i­nally writ­ten for the Atlantic, but for rea­sons Gessen explains in the post­script, it didn’t appear in print until the first issue of n+1, in the fall of 2004.

From “The Ener­gies of Words,” Peter O’Leary’s his­tory of the famous 1931 “Objectivists” issue of Poetry:

For an issue that launched a move­ment, it’s not par­tic­u­larly mem­o­rable for its poetry, most of which was writ­ten by second-​rate poets who hap­pened to be friends of Zukof­sky, or by now canon­i­cal poets who are not regarded as Objec­tivists, such as Williams, Bunting, or Ken­neth Rexroth, a prog­en­i­tor of the San Fran­cisco Renais­sance in the 1950s.