Just last week I got back from a hot and humid round of tedious errands and encountered the usual: a small pile of book-packages on the front porch. 

This is always a cheering prospect, don’t get me wrong.

I once worked in a newsroom that had three critics either on staff or on call. It wasn’t a big newspaper, but it served a vibrant little city, so there was always plenty to write about:

I remember the sinking feeling I had thirty years ago when I was enjoying an episode of “Seinfeld” right up until the moment when Jerry Seinfeld starts his signature riffing – only this time it was about a subject near to my heart: re-reading books.

Every book critic and Books editor ought to spend some time working as a clerk in a retail bookstore; it’ll remind them very quickly of the impossibilities of their trade.