'…My question is, do we "have to" ascribe the worst possible motives to an action at all times?…' Yes, it's a pretty safe guide, Jim. In the undying words of my hero, Sigmund Freud, most of humanity is trash. Will's practice of admiring & respecting everybody, regardless of their merit, is really only for the genuine, certified saints of this world. Not for the likes of you & me. I belong to four other 'literary' groups: the Jane Austen, the Trollope & the two Hemingways. On only one of these (Ernest-L) have I ever seen - & then very rarely indeed - the all lower case posting. It was as striking as a chap walking into a shop without his clothes. Nudism may be a fine, natural way of living but encountered in the high street it does raise a few questions. Or are we to assume that Salinger attracts a larger proportion of the vegetarian, sandal-wearing, Foucault-reading, green-ink brigade? On the question of reading tastes, may I offer a personal confession? For years I'd heard Henry James & Marcel Proust commended by the cognoscenti. Yet I never managed to get beyond the first chapter or so of either. Then, rather to my amazement, I read somewhere that Graham Greene invariably referred to James as the Master. And not very long afterwards, came across Hemingway's tribute to Proust. My idolatry of the two modern writers was enough to intice me into one last attempt at the older boys' stuff. If the two men whose styles obsessed me had learned from people with ways of writing so dissimilar, then I should not exclude myself, either, from those particular classrooms. The result was predictable. My ears were shut to the recommendation of anyone who spent his energies teaching rather than writing. Whereas by identifying with an admired professional I was able to force an entry into the work of two writers who, in the end, have given me very great - & repeated - pleasure. Scottie B.