Sometimes it’s hard to say how you really feel. You want to be accommodating. You want to be kind. Above all, you want to be liked, but nobody likes a pushover. This is the year to stick up for yourself!
We intend to lead by example. Just last week, for instance, some wise guy tweeted, “They can’t fool me. Everyone knows The Paris Review has been just a McSweeney’s Twitter sock-puppet since Plimpton passed away.” Well, that sort of hurt our feelings. We let it slide at the time, but now we’ve grown a pair—AND WE ARE NOT A PUPPET!
True, we’ve been touting our subscription deal with McSweeney’s for a week now. We’ve been tireless, not to say relentless, in promoting our association with that fine publication. Why? Not because we’re pushovers, but because—and this is the sound of a literary magazine putting its pedigreed, pedicured, sixty-year-old foot down—it’s one hell of a deal. Think about it. For just $75, you get a full year of McSweeney’s and The Paris Review—that’s a 20 percent savings on all the interviews, fiction, essays, art, poetry, and humor a discerning reader could want. Subscribe now!