The worst review I ever got was that crack about how a monkey could eventually write Hamlet if you gave it enough time. I was so peeved, I just had to prove Ben Brantley wrong. So I went straight out, bought a bunch of monkeys, and locked them in my basement with a typewriter. It’s been twenty-five years since that day, and let me tell you, nothing but drivel has ever emerged from that typewriter. If you don’t believe me, just read Brantley’s review of Cats (which the monkeys wrote on day 7).