I read Tao Lin’s novella, Stealing from American Apparel, and at first I couldn’t tell if I liked it or not, but I was fascinated by it, how of the moment and specific it was to a particular group of young people who live in New York. Aimless hipsters, I guess, but not like the kind that live in Montreal or Toronto. The New York kind that forget how hard it is to maintain raw vegan diets because there are so many restaurants that cater to that stuff over there. The writing style was particular and deliberately naive and it worked, even if it was sometimes annoying. Also there’s a page that talks about both Lorrie Moore and spicy chicken sandwiches from Wendy’s, and I liked that. So, I don’t know. I did like it. I read it between reading chapters of The Golden Mean by Annabel Lyon. It was probably unfair to read those books at the same time because I’d inevitably compare them (Lyon writes a fictional account of Aristotle’s tutoring of Alexander the Great; you can’t get more different), but I needed something contemporary to read at the same time to balance it out. Sometimes historical fiction makes me feel restless. But The Golden Mean didn’t make me feel that way, actually. It was so good and satisfying, the kind of book I can’t shelve right away because I want it around for a few more days, even if it’s just sitting there, hanging out with the rest of my stuff.