Not long ago we ran a nonfiction piece on Damien Echols (of the West Memphis Three). It was a review of sorts– a review of journalist Marc Perrusquia‘s miserable “true” crime novel and as well as his decades-long obsession with demonizing the young man whose present freedom (and fame) appears jammed in Perrusquia’s craw. (See “Literally Cursed: Reviewing Marc Perrusquia’s Frightening Two-Decade Obsession with Damien Echols.”)

We’re used to authors who are grateful for a decent review of their book, but Damien’s appreciation for our article on Perrusquia feels, to us, in a category of its own.