Uh oh! Point of view, scenic construction, status life symbolism, I thought I was reading a book about the NJ by Tom Wolfe but whaddaya know, I wake up chewing gum in English 202 listening to William Phillips talk about Henry James, it's always Henry James in English 202. . . . NOOOooo!!!! ARgh! +%&$!!! Tom Wolfe!**! Ecch! PINCH MY TEETH! That's what happens, folks, when NJs start thinking they're Men of Letters like the dirty folk from Partisan Review or The Village Voice ("No, stupid! That's not Toilet Paper! Pastafazouli!), oh, you know, every place but Esquire, Playboy, Rolling Stone. . . . The gang's all here, from Georgie (Plimpton, you silly), to Norman to Joanie (Di-di-didion) to Truman (no last name needed here, ha ha ha Margaret), Gay Talese, Hunter Thompson, Rex Reed, even "Adam Smith," ain't that a kick in the head? Ha ha ha. And what does it matter that many of the selections are those authors' least distinguished work, or first published piece, or that the place of publication is often obscurely unmentioned (trouble with releases, Honest Tom?), I mean, it's the history of the New Journalism, hottest thing in lit since the Great American Novel Contest, or Balzac (Homer maybe?), and natcherly you can only expect us to get a little exclusive about it, put on a couple airs, lecture pompously (I'm entitled to it, creep) in my shiny white suit, 'scuse me, gotta go look in the mirror a sec, see myself in my macho all-American hubristic white whiny costume, gotta warm up in the dressing room, you know the big NJ contest, see you 'roun. . . .