National Review, September 30th, 1988
BACK IN 1984, Jay McInerney and his editors ought to have passed round the cigars, for they had given birth to an extremely profitable literary genre, McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City, it turned out, was the first of a new variety of contemporary novel, a kind of Eighties urban-chic Catcher in the Rye, in which hip young college grads ran amok in our nation's great metropolises, overdoing it on easy, alienated sex and 48-hour cocaine binges-until some jarring event, perhaps the point at which their exhausted bodies simply refused to take another snort of the high life, forced them to step...
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