You pundits who want to suck their thumbs and say something deep about Derrick Rose—have at it. The bar’s been set so low that unless you attack your keyboard with a backhoe nothing you have to say can go lower.
There are reporters who write trash because they can’t help themselves. Their readers expect it and at home there are mouths to feed. Silverman makes the novel claim that not being able to help himself is another measure of this horrific story. “The instinct is to dig deeper into Rose’s past, as if questions of marital infidelity, promiscuity or dishonesty have any relevance,” he says. Helpless before instinct, he passes along every piece of dirt he can dig up. Then he makes it clear again that “none of them mean a thing when it comes to crimes like these.”
