I like you, I really, really, like you

I was a huge fan of Mordecai Richler’s work until I watched a biography of the writer and thought he sounded like a real asshole. It’s not that he stopped writing brilliant books, I just couldn’t stick him anymore. The same thing happened after I learned that P. G. Wodehouse was a misanthrope. It ruined Bertie Wooster, and seemed as though Plum was laughing at me rather than with me. It is childish to want to like the people who provide us with our entertainment, but I can’t help it. I still wish I’d never heard Margaret Atwood read aloud.