So I'm opening up Sunday's NYT Book Review section (we get the Sunday sections on Saturday) and whose visage is looking back at me but Stanley. The review by Emily Eakin, a New Yorker staff writer, of his book of essays is not kind. I know I'm taking this out of context probably but here are some snippets:
"Crouch encourages us to think of his essay as musical improvisations, writing as jazz. On paper, however, the effect is often cacophany. Unencumbered by conventions of logic and usage, he splatters the page with great gobs of vivid but impenetrable pose, awash in mixed metaphors and murky generalizations."
"Equally damaging of an author of such fiercely humanist instincts is Crouch's penchant for scatological conceits."
She concludes by saying that "Crouch is too smart and too original a thinker not to be held to the same high standards for which he has relentlessly agitated."
It's safe that this is one review he won't be saving.