In 1987, Charles Simmons published The Belles Lettres Papers, a roman à clef about his years as an editor at The New York Times Book Review. It is certainly the funniest thing ever to have been written about that journalistic organ. It is also, alas, a devastatingly accurate portrayal of the kind of intellectual fatuousness that has made American cultural journalism today such a tawdry business. Of course, The Belles Lettres Papers is a work of satire. And even if certain personalities are identifiable, many of the book’s most hilarious episodes are clearly a gross exaggeration. They must be. We suppose it is possible—just—that The New York Times would, as Mr. Simmons describes in his fiction, someday appoint an ignorant vulgarian as editor-in-chief of the book review in order to intimidate the staff and get rid of people who have outlived their usefulness. But surely Mr. Simmons strains credulity ...

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