"[My book] is unknown for the masterpiece that it is."
"I’m not just another writer. I don’t think people understand my relationship with this city and they don’t understand what I’ve achieved."
"There is not another writer in Southern California who sits between Bellow and Conrad next to Hemingway and Kafka…"
"Of course they admire me. They wouldn’t exist without me. I am in the canon. Those other people will never be in the canon."
No, that’s not some fanficcer talking about himself and his immortal Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings cross-over slash epic … and it’s not Tono Rondone, James Kosub, Dr. Robin Reid, or even Lori Prokop, either. This ridiculously over-the-top self-love comes from writer Kate Braverman, basking in her own greatness in today’s Los Angeles Times.
I’ve never read Kate Braverman. She may actually be the best thing to happen to literature since the invention of ink. She certainly has won her share of literary honors and has been a mentor to a very impressive list of admired, critically-acclaimed writers. But I have an immediate, instinctive dislike of anyone who calls their own work a "masterpiece" and touts themselves as legendary artists. Then again, the article mentions that Braverman has spent much of her life as a drug addict, which explains a lot. Most of the addicts I’ve known in my life also believed the universe revolved around them…and were furious when no one noticed.
UPDATE 2-27-04: Writer Rodger Jacobs samples reactions from all over the blogosphere to Braverman’s comments…as well as stories about some of her even more outrageous behavior.