Page 13 of Bad Words

Hayden’s pale blue eyes bordered on bloodshot. They studied the graph of subscribers, unblinking. “So, you think we can build on this? How?”

“By refusing to let Parker Navarro dismiss our work,” I said immediately. “People have clearly forgotten why magazines like City matter. That’s a conversation we should be having.”

“I’m not interested in what you think is culturally important, Selina,” Hayden said. “I’m talking about City’s bottom line. I’m asking if sticking to your guns is going to grow our market or shoot us in the foot.”

“Well, I don’t think defending our worth to people is going to lose us any subscribers.” I let out a short breath. “Look, haven’t you been telling us for months to … to use socials more aggressively for cross-platform content engagement?” The effort it took me to speak these words with a straight face was incredible.

“Yeah,” she said slowly.

“Well, if I’m going to bat for City, I’ll finally have something to say on social media. I’ll—I’ll sign up for”—I waved at Scott’s screen—“this stuff.”

Hayden shook her head. “The optics are only going to get worse if you waltz onto socials to double down while Parker Navarro writes out some heartfelt apology.”

“Apology?” said Scott. “He’s not apologizing, Hayden. Haven’t you seen the Times?”

“What?” said Hayden.

“What did he say in the Times?” I said.

Scott navigated to a new tab and opened the article. Hayden and I hunched closer to read.

By the bottom of the page, my hands had curled into fists on the table. “This is what I’m talking about!” I said. “We can’t just sit back and let him say this about us to millions of readers. People have to see that he’s not some brave truth teller who’s right about the future of media. He’s just another entitled, mediocre writer with an ego the size of Siberia.”

Hayden raked her fingers through her glimmering highlights. Her eyes narrowed on the Times interview. In that moment, I knew that however much she hated me, Navarro’s comments had just made him the bigger threat.

“Fine,” she said. “Get him.”

Excerpt: “Viral Video Captures Face-Off Between Bestselling Author, Critic”

This article has been updated to reflect additional commentary.

… “[O]bviously, I’m not thrilled that our conversation was filmed,” said Navarro, “and I think Selina would agree. But this could be the threshold of a productive dialogue. Authors aren’t allowed to respond to even the most virulent, ad hominem criticism. The aftermath of a negative review can be destructive and isolating.”

And the future of City? To that, Navarro said, “I have nothing but respect for City as a historical institution, but personally, I don’t see a place in any reasonable literary future for teeth-bared takedowns like Selina Chan’s, which encourage gleeful dogpiles instead of artistic open-mindedness. In an industry designed to separate the wheat from the chaff at every level prepublication, you have to ask yourself what the function of a negative review is. A simple buyer beware? Hobbyist academic analysis? An exposé on the critic’s precious feelings? More and more, it seems like the latter, like this brand of prescriptive criticism is designed to reduce the scope of literary culture and chastise those who dare to enjoy the difficult or offbeat.”

In a request for comment, Chan replied, “I see that Parker Navarro, as usual, has used two hundred words where he could have used twenty.”

“I can’t believe he’s saying all this,” I muttered as Jacob slid a mug of chai over to me. “Thank you.”

“Want one of these?” asked Cassie, withdrawing from a cabinet with a shortbread cookie sticking out of her mouth.

“Yes, please. You’re the best.”

“I know.” She shook a cookie into my palm before dropping back down on the rug, where Lyra was thrusting wooden animal heads into a board painted to look like a zoo enclosure. “No, baby,” said Cassie encouragingly. “Look, you’re making a cursed chimera again.”

I’d come straight from work to Jacob and Cassie’s apartment. This was one of my favorite places in the world, a brick-walled loft with a subzero sense of visual unity. The rug that Lyra and Cassie sprawled upon was an enormous, psychedelically colored diamond with one point under a midcentury sofa and the other under an antique vinyl stand. The lights were black metal cones suspended from eight feet of cord. A steel counter ran along one wall toward a set of modular plastic bookshelves, giving the far corner a retrofuturistic look. It was a place with no self-control, crammed full of every beautiful thing Jacob and Cassie could imagine. The same way they lived their lives.

Jacob and I were sitting at the kitchen island, halfway in and halfway out of our phones. “Why wouldn’t he keep this going?” Jacob said, scrolling. “Look at the benefits.”

“What benefits?”

“Uh, Exhibit A.” Jacob showed me his screen—the Amazon page for High and Dry—and pointed to the sales ranking: #12 in Books.

At this moment, Parker Navarro was selling more copies than the Bible. More copies, even, than Colleen Hoover.

“What the fuck,” I said to Amazon dot com.

“What?” said Cassie. “Share with the class.”