Here’s the review’s end, with the almost obligatory claim that Holloway found things of merit, so this has to be a fair review (Don’t question my motives, Buster!):
"But this isn’t a unilaterally unflattering review. There are enough glimmers of something truly wonderful here that it will be interesting to see how Isis matures as a writer, to see if the next collection is purer, less subsumed by what reads as arrogance.
If the next book is better, perhaps Mr. Isis will actually earn the praise piled on in the introduction to I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like."
More moralizing. Isis’s tales’ flaws (in at least 7 of the 10 tales) have nothing to do with ‘arrogance,’ but with the narrative anomy and indifferent characterization; things manifestly justifiable and provable… with excerption! The last sentence of the review is true, but while I did not think Isis’s book was a good book, and he certainly deserved a negative review, he deserved a far more impartial, fair, less condescendingly moralistic, off the rack, and better written one than this.
If a critic’s aim is to point out positives and negatives so readers and writers understand what constitutes quality and not, this review fails to demonstrate, and convince, readers of its rather nebulous claims (much less those of a personal or ad hominem bent) and, I’m sure, does not convince Isis. Whether the Journal's review’s flaws lie with the Holloway, the website, or both, does not really matter, as all three entities are merely symptoms of the deliteracy that grips modern American society. To close, this review is as bad, or worse, in its domain, as Isis’s book is in its. That’s not anything to revel in.