It is obvious from its first page that Purity is a worthless novel and its author, Jonathan Franzen, a worthless writer. Even the very first line, spoken by one of Franzen’s “characters,” is unbelievable: “Oh pussycat, I’m so glad to hear your voice”—the voice that of no human who has ever walked this earth, except an inept and pretentious novelist.

If it feels like forever ago that Real Man of Genius Jonathan Franzen was extolling the virtues of obscure German pessimists, bitching about Teutonic women who wouldn't sleep with him, and picking lit fights with happy-endings cognoscente Jennifer Weiner, there is good news: Franzen has more thoughts on Weiner.

Jonathan Franzen, master of his own author photo propaganda, has a new binding of pages with words written on them coming out in... ten months. It is called Purity. Have you ever been more excited to read a work of lidərəCHər in your entire life?

A professor at Swarthmore has decided to embark on a biography of the still-living (at least at last report) novelist Jonathan Franzen. One can only imagine the anticipatory salivation at Oprah's Book Club headquarters.