A Critic's Meta Review 5/5
For this review, I would like you to close your eyes (not yet, though, since you need to read the rest of this sentence; after the sentence is over, you can close your eyes and go through this little exercise I am about to have you do, but I really hope your eyes are still open right now...man, I should have waited to type that. Ah well, if I lost ya, I lost ya - it is what it is) and think back to your childhood. No, not your hormone and acne-addled adolescence. I’m talking about your actual childhood - you know, when you were a child. Think back to those rare occasions (maybe they weren’t so rare, depending on your family circumstances) on which you were tasked with undertaking the grand perignation from your dwelling to the local supermarket.
Armed with no vehicle other than the two at the bottom of your legs, you were to embark on a voyage that was, at least to you, not unlike the one that the great Odysseus was forced to endure. First, you were to go off to Troy (Wal-Mart, or whatever is closest) and battle courageously (get the last eggplant before that mean old lady with the short red hair and the horn-rimmed glasses weaves around the corner and snatches it up); then, you were to return home to Ithaca (your humble, suburban home) with the spoils from the war. On your way there, of course, you would be met with the siren song of a passing ice cream truck, attempting to finagle some of the clinking change from your pocket, which your mother specifically requested you bring back so she could put it in your grandfather’s box of coins that he uses to get caramels at the pharmacy every Sunday afternoon. You would also seek temporary refuge amongst the Phaeacians (Sally and Susie from down the lane, to whom you proceed to recount your struggles in the hopes of perhaps accruing a little bit of sympathy, which will serve as a nice companion on the rest of your journey home) and, finally, arrive home, a forever changed man.
And then, of course, everyone will call into question whether half the things you said happened to you ever actually did. You’ll be called an unreliable narrator.
You won’t care, though. You’ve just told the greatest story that has ever left the mouth of any man. More importantly - you made it home. Might we even say you’re a...Homer?
(please forgive me)