Here's an excerpt from the review, which I don't mind admitting pretty much exactly outlines my intentions:
Throughout the mix of poems about philosophers and artists and relatively marginal figures and Robinson’s own family and friends, a trace of Robinson himself emerges, and the poems become almost a memoir of the things half-learned by a fallible, regular but interested dude.
It’s hard to say how good of a book ARAOP is, because there are so many mistakes in it. And maybe that’s what’s fun about the book—the reader is granted more authority than the author.Woo-hoo!!! Really. I mean, this review made me remember my book matters.
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