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Title: Solipsitic Twaddle
Review: We do not need another neurotic "memoir" from a young person about his pointless little life. Will Leitch's book is the penultimate navel-gazing example of what's wrong with New York writing today. There are some bits that would have been funny in a sitcom, but mostly this is thinly-disguised careeerism passing itself off as confessional. Basically worthless.
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