Criticism, Anyone?: An Ode to Martin Amis

​​I once invited to play tennis. The year was 2007 and he was visiting Chicago to promote his latest novel, . After his book talk, I lined up with other audience members to get my copy signed, having thought carefully about what I would say to the famous writer. I had read that he enjoyed racquet sports and was vain about his topspin lob. So I slyly asked as he inscribed my book, “Would you care to hit the tennis ball while you’re in town?” He looked taken aback by the question and seemed to give it a moment’s thought. But then he politely demurred, gentler in person than his wicked prose had led me to expect. I shouldn’t have been surprised by