I read a book called Arkansas, by John Brandon. It’s a McSweeney’s book (of course), but seriously, there are more than a couple of McSweeney’s books and stories I do not like at all. This one I liked, though. Brandon gave me my Denis Johnson, circa Jesus’ Son, fix without being too derivative. I bought the book from a very good local and independent bookshop, paid about ten more dollars for it than I would have at Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com, and…Well, I wrote the following letter to Eli Horowitz, Managing Editor of McSweeney’s:

Dear McSwys,

I rushed down to one of the McSweeney’s 100 stores, The Bookloft, in Great
Barrington, MA, to pick up a copy of ARKANSAS, on hold for me. I love the
feel of this book, this “rectangular” design makes a guy want to carry it
everywhere with him. Anyway, I got home and parked myself on the big chair
(not big enough to be a love seat; not small enough to be a regular chair)
and started reading. My first mistake was thinking I could skip over the
excerpt I had read in McSwy’s 26, because, of course, I had read it already
and thus, had to buy the whole book, which, I think, was your plan all
along. I found out I couldn’t just skip, that the excerpt was strategically
taken from different parts of the book and pushed together into a tight
little plot-driven, hi-speed adventure. So it’s no longer an error; I’ve
gone back and read every word so far.

The next part might disturb you. I have this habit of pausing during a
riveting piece of literature and contemplating the type, the cover, my life,
while fanning through the pages to see how much longer I’ll get to be
wrapped up in this story. To my dismay, I came upon page 99/100 (They’re
back-to-back.) and half the page was torn out. Upon further examination, I
noticed it was most definitely NOT a page excerpted in McSwy’s 26, so I had
not read the missing section prior to buying this book. You understand my
problem. I need someone, preferably the author, Mr. Brandon, to call me and
read that section to me. It wouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes,
although he’d have to read the missing paragraph on page 99, then wait until
I read the intact part of page 100 before continuing with the section torn
away on page 100. Can you arrange this for me?

Why don’t I take it back to the store, you ask? Well, I don’t like
confrontation, and I’m afraid I’ll be accused of having accidentally torn
this page and asking for a new one under false pretenses. I assure you that
I had nothing to do with the torn page. Plus, I think they might have to
order a new one for me, and I don’t want to wait.

Thanks for your time and attention.

A faithful reader and subscriber,
Frank Tempone
413/442-2732

I don’t know what I was doing the next night. I think I may have been on study hall duty at school, but when I came home, everyone in the house was asleep. I suddenly felt like an idiot for even sending the email. So I pulled back and wrote Eli Horowitz again:

Hey Eli…

Please don’t worry about it..I felt like writing a goofy letter…Really
nice job on the book…Frank

Eli Horowitz responded immediately:

He called you! Said he talked to your mother.

I don’t live with my mother.

I ran upstairs and shook Jen awake and asked if anyone called. She said a guy named John called and wanted to read to me — that he left his telephone number and that I should call him the next morning. She didn’t say any of this coherently. It was a mighty struggle and there was more shaking.

But I’m not Marcia Brady and he’s not Davy Jones, so I never called him. Don’t be too disappointed. It’s textbook me.