The word Letlander has always been a problem. It was a temporary expedient until a better word rose from some kind of ashes. Putting The in front of Letlander compounds the problem. And it's not as though I don't have useful things to do. One solution is to potlatch, but if I recall The Letlander has endured potlatch several times before and remains bushy tailed, beady eyed and chipper. The other aggravating constant is that The Letlander is Book Five Point One in The Rabbit of Usk.
All the same, we writers of pulp are stubborn and often uncaring creatures, it's
a tough world we occupy, dispensing justice, dragging out narrative, bumping off
unsavory characters and sometimes just going round and round in endless circles.
And the question is why? It's kind of like Everest, I suppose. Why even
think about climbing it? Hillary's Edwardian answer, a feeble one in my view,
was "Because it's there!" And The Letlander is The Letlander, I guess. In
time I might even learn to live with it.