Charles Webb, who wrote The Graduate back in the 1960s, is about to be evicted from his apartment, according to a BBC report, after falling two months behind on the rent. (Who knew he was living in East Sussex? Not me—then again, I didn't even know the author of The Graduate was still alive...) Apparently, Webb's deal with the film's producers was a one-time payoff, which is in itself not surprising, especially given Webb's ambivalence towards the film's effect on his literary reputation—and, after all, what agent could really have foreseen that thirty-some years later, theatrical producers would want to make a Broadway production out of the movie and made sure the book's author got a piece of that pie?