In 2010 Elif Batuman wrote Get A Real Degree. Obstensibly a book review, it gave her space to unload on an era that produced a writing glut.

This quote stuck out ot me.

That’s the torture of walking into a bookshop these days: it’s not that you think the books will all be terrible; it’s that you know they’ll all have a certain degree of competent workmanship, that most will have about three genuinely beautiful or interesting sentences and no really bad ones, that many will have at least one convincing, well-observed character, and that nearly all will be bound up in a story that you can’t bring yourself to care about. All that great writing, trapped in mediocre books! Who, indeed, has time to read them?

This encapsulates my exact feeling of the era of Netflix-competent TV.

So many shows, with a budget for good sets and well thought-out costumes, at least one actor or actress worth a damn, and probably a nice arc with at one memorable episode. All with the same hand of the same producer who has a taste for pap. Who has time for any of it?