I enjoyed Michael Wolff’s Burn Rate, in the way one enjoys a breathtakingly self-serving autobiography that never dives beneath the surface of events. I also admired the fact that a chronicle of the New Economy, and the rise and fall of Wolff New Media, could leave out any mention whatsoever of how the business actually worked. (The silence was actually quite revealing: in so many new media enterprises, what mattered wasn’t the content, but the deals. It was like commodities trading: some monkey has to grow the damn corn, or soybeans, or whatever, but the real action is in derivatives. Anyone who got their hands dirty was a chump. Not that I’m bitter or anything.)

So I was very gratified to see a stunning, as in grabbed by the neck so you’re paralyzed while the carnivore starts to eat you, review of his latest book, Autumn of the Moguls.

[via Gawker]