I generally do not diss other living writers (once you’re dead, your ass is mine), but I’m going to break my rule and say that is just . . . bad. I won’t even use the “Lord, it wasn’t good” cartoon for this one. This is abysmal::
“Hence his life remains incessantly infused with her identity-infidelity, and her abhorrent ascensions to those constant salacious sessions of sexual solitaire she’d seen as self-regard.”
That’s on page 11. I think it means the male protagonist is upset that some female within his grasp is masturbating, but that’s just a guess. (More quotes at the link above.) I thought Penn had reached the bottom of my estimation when he said that film was too important to waste on entertainment. (Entertainment is the delivery system for ideas, you moron.) But this, this sinks him far below that. This isn’t just dumb pseudo-intellectualism, this is Bad Writing.
From now on, whenever I look in despair at some of my own Bad Writing, I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least I’m not Sean Penn.
For the love of god, tell me something good to read.