Lately I find it difficult to read criticism. The words compose and are comprised of abstractions. They build nothing except the sense of the writer’s ego. It’s not that the writer’s ego is an uninspired thing. I am a writer, I have plenty of ego. I know many writers, and I know their enthralling egos well. But—

Even these words, my own, are too abstract. I will read more Valeria Luiselli instead.