Miss Lonelyhearts

Nathanael West is my new favorite author. He is bleak, deadpan, cynical, and tortured, all refuges of the hyper-sensitive artist. Miss Lonelyhearts isn't as well-crafted as Day of the Locust, but West gets big points in my book for referring to Krafft-Ebing and Huysmans. He also refers to Des Esseintes's memorial to his virility here: “Alas, after much good fun the day comes when you realise that soon you must die. You keep a stiff upper lip and decide to give a last party. You invite all your old mistresses, trainers, artists, and boon companions. The guests are dressed in black,... the table is a coffin carved for you by Eric Gill. You serve caviar and blackberries and liquorice candy and coffee without cream.”