Thanks to Sunday's profile in the New York Times Magazine, I now officially have a literary crush* on Jonathan Safran Foer. He's a bestselling novelist. He lives in Park Slope. Amplification: He owns his own townhouse in Park Slope. He has a Great Dane named George, who he walks in Prospect Park. He writes beautiful, thoughtful, funny, self-aware e-mails. He's close to his family. He's not only able but unafraid to write compellingly and without cliches about pure emotion, especially love. He's generous, he's smart, he's modest, he's rich (never hurts), and he wears glasses. The one flaw in his perfection is that he is, alas, married, but as ours is a literary love, destined to be consummated only in ink and paper and thought, we can ignore that.
Marry me, Jonathan.
* literary crush. n. An exceedingly silly but enjoyable state of mind where one falls in love with a person solely through the character evinced in his or her writings. See also Lane, Anthony.
Marry me, Jonathan.
* literary crush. n. An exceedingly silly but enjoyable state of mind where one falls in love with a person solely through the character evinced in his or her writings. See also Lane, Anthony.