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In retrospect it’s inevitable that when X’s Bloom in FutureLA is published in early 1921, no one notices. No one comments on the passages of revolutionary stream of consciousness, no one cares about the mindbending erudition or how the book proposes to sum up western civilization in a twenty-four-hour stroll.

Rather the Irish plagiarist’s version a year later, set in Dublin, receives all the attention, just as it did before history and the imagination circled back on themselves in the form of Zan’s protagonist. X’s subsequent novels go unnoticed as well, even as he’s bitterly certain that, if anything, he’s improved on the rough drafts of pretenders. Finally, with X’s rendition of a Southern novel about a man who goes crazy not knowing whether he’s white or black, the New York Times offers a conjecture, part manifesto and part exposé.


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