So, Philip Roth is calling it quits. After almost 60 years of writing, the bad boy of American literature -- the Jewish mischief-maker, the man who introduced us to Kafka's prostitute and Lech Walesa's buddy, Moishe Pipik -- has finally decided to retire his pen. It has been two months since Roth made this cataclysmic announcement, and the Internet is still buzzing with commentary, speculation and eulogy. But is this really the occasion to put our great American novelist to rest? Might Roth have instead, and perhaps even purposely, bequeathed to us even more words to satisfy our readerly appetites?
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