John Hicks

Editor’s Note: This Dec. 16, 2011 post is being re-run to celebrate Walker Percy’s birthday.

A programming note: Comedy Central is now running back-to-back episodes of 30 Rock just about every night.

30 Rock is the only network sitcom to give Seinfeld a run for its money, if you ask me.

Maybe I should be on Twitter. #TinaFeyIsAGoddess. #Duh.

Reading Walker Percy does not make me want to tweet. It makes me want to write.

It’s hard to say which one of Percy’s novels I like best, because there are several I return to again and again.

Currently, it’s The Moviegoer. I don’t understand how anyone could not want to read this book 20 times.

The Moviegoer was published in 1961, and won the National Book Award in 1962. Percy’s debut novel was the product of a long artistic journey. He was in his mid-40s when The Moviegoer made him a force in “Southern literature,” which is the kind of literature all writers born south of the Mason-Dixon produce, apparently. (Don’t get me started.)

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