I loved As I Sat Down At Grand Central Station And Wept - it was one of my favorite novels growing up, mostly for its originality. Unfortunately Ms. Echlin does not in this essay on Elizabeth Smart, capture that originality in any way or convey enough reason to justify this retrospective. I found it bland and unappealing, which it really did not have to be. Maybe you can't write about such sublime writers - anymore than describe a perfect experience. Either way, it fell flat for me, especially the sophomoric sub-title.

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