“There is a special place in hell for publishers who run from their authors like craven dogs, who don’t mind sensationalism that sells… until the game gets rough.”
Jim Hatfield? Wasn’t he some kind of whack-o? Some kind of Conspiracy Theorist with fruitcake ideas out to get the Bushes?
I’ve got to admit it. That’s the first thing that popped into my head when Soft Skull suggested I write an introduction to the new edition of Hatfield’s Fortunate Son.
But then I read the book.