The literary Profile comes into the world facing a double skepticism. Most people don’t care enough about books to read about authors—unlike, say, pop stars or tech titans. And those who do care often look down their noses at the genre, which Roland Barthes mocked as a relatable fantasy for middle-class readers anxious to be told that the great novelist enjoys “his pajamas and his cheeses,” too. Fiction, of course, is already based on ransacking everyday life. But poetry is supposed to come from the soul, tradition, and psychic tremors too minute and particular to be grasped by a journalist on assignment. Or so I thought in college, when I took a break from annotating Derek Walcott’s “Omeros” to read Hilton Als’s 2004 Profile of its author in this magazine.
