Kostelanetz remains a child of the 1960s—when he was in his twenties—a bad boy who refuses to grow up or be bought off, except, on occasion, by his own arrogance. His literary judgments [in Twenties in the Sixties] follow suit, swinging wildly from the unexpected shaft of insight to the petulant philistinism of blanket rejections. The "radical" typographical decision to print other essays and commentary alongside the main pieces is similarly both distracting and intriguing, but Kostelanetz is still essential, still fighting the "good fight" against the literary cabals and commercial barkers that have our literature by the neck.