Chris Lehmann has read the work of...fiction...penned by Stephen Glass. He hasn't reviewed it so much as stomped gleefully all over the factual account posing as a novel: "Of course, between all these unseemly bouts of score-settling and character-assassination-à-clef, Glass does a lot of conspicuous plumbing of his own prevaricating conscience. His meditations disclose him to be every bit as predictably soulful and misunderstood as his tormentors and pursuers are predictably petty and heinous. We learn that Glass fancies himself a "gadfly" and a rebel "with all my resentment, my discontent and my secret, subversive questions and plans intact" from his adolescent years. It turns out as well that he lies only because he craves, yes, simple affection: 'What I truly wanted was to be well regarded by the people around me -- actually, to be loved by them.'" Still want to buy The Fabulist?