BRET ‘THE REAL THING’ ELLIS

Poor Bret Easton Ellis (“Attack of the Anti-Heroes,” Aug. 21). He must endure the scathing attacks of the slumbering, half-witted journeymen, who promote their own ignorance via the vociferous attacks launched at his adroit, nerve-racking social criticism couched as fiction. They pretend that Camus, Hemingway and Fitzgerald were, um, original. That Thomas Wolfe wove a web of constant thematic and stylistic changes.

Face it: Bret’s just too damn good, too damn young, too damn rich and too damn famous for the plethora of third-rate hacks to bear. In a city that wallows in slush, Bret has slashed through the schlock and image-gridlock with poignant, albeit static, pizazz. He has a voice, a vision, and a conscious--things critics don’t grasp until after they’ve gained tenure and their thesis concerns the dead. Wail away, you dumbfounded bottom-feeders. You’re either too busy, too inebriated, too old, too bloated or too immersed in your umpteenth unheeded treatment to celebrate the wherewithal of true talent.

If you find yourself one of the puny, clamoring for Bret to write more interesting novels, you’d be better off devoting your time to becoming better subject matter.

BRYAN SZABO, MONROVIA