I already knew that Alan Moore was trashing V for Vendetta, the film adaptation of his graphic novel. So the New York Times lowdown merely filled in some details for me.

Still, it was a worthwhile read, thanks to Moore’s succinct self-portrait:

Today, he resides in the sort of home that every gothic adolescent dreams of, one furnished with a library of rare books, antique gold-adorned wands and a painting of the mystical Enochian tables used by Dr. John Dee, the court astrologer of Queen Elizabeth I. He shuns comic-book conventions, never travels outside England and is a firm believer in magic as a “science of consciousness.” “I am what Harry Potter grew up into,” he said, “and it’s not a pretty sight.”

Not since the theory of the cast of “Calvin and Hobbes” growing up to become Fight Club have I been so chilled by the concept of childhood lost.