The Internet's a wonderful thing. It gives you the chance for do-overs, while print is permanent and unchanging.

For example, a few weeks ago, an e-mail arrived from an esteemed fellow named Joel O. Conarroe. What a resume:

President emeritus of the J. S. Guggenheim Foundation, former president of PEN American Center, former chairman of the National Book Association and, some time ago, dean of Arts and Sciences at the University of Pennsylvania.

He participated in a panel discussion in 2008 at a Columbia University program marking the 75th birthday of Philip Roth. In my account of the event, I described him as "a florid fellow from the University of Pennsylvania wearing what looked like saddle shoes."

The story was carried in the print and online editions, and I thought no more about it until I received a message from Conarroe last month. It seems that he was introduced recently at an event as "a Danforth Fellow, a Woodrow Wilson Fellow, a Guggenheim Fellow, and a Florid Fellow ...."

"Puzzled and amused, I asked my introducer where the latter came from," wrote Conarroe, "and was told it appears in one of my Google hits. So I looked it up, and sure enough, on a page giving a Person Profile, there it is, "Florid Fellow, University of Pennsylvania." So thank you, so much, for getting me this award, which, I have decided, was underwritten by Sam and Sally Florid, who design and manufacture saddle shoes."

I was both amused and appalled. Damn Google, source of both fact and fiction but always accepted as the gospel.

The misunderstanding was easily put right, thanks to the flexibility of the Internet. I have since stripped Conarroe of his Florid Fellowship by editing the Web site story.

The incident got me to thinking, though, about other content, namely book reviews, that sit unchanged for years even though the reviewer might have second thoughts. Would it be fair or ethical to revise those reviews because the critic has rethought his or her opinions?

The question arose after I read James Wood's dismissive critique of Richard Powers' new novel, "Generosity," in the New Yorker. Wood, anointed the "best literary critic of his generation," not only largely rejects Powers' newest book, but also calls into question his prolific career.

Powers' chief sin is that he lacks "any subtlety of insight into actual human beings. ...His novels are thus unwitting, even anxious confessions of their own inability to animate his characters. So they circle around their lack, animals not quite willing to shun their own dead."

I certainly missed that aspect of Powers' books, I and the many other reviewers of "Generosity" I consulted after Wood had shattered my faith in my judgment. Critics from such newspapers as the Philadelphia Inquirer, Cleveland Plain-Dealer, Denver Post, Washington Post, Los Angeles Times and Christian Science Monitor hailed "Generosity" for its originality.

Where had we all gone wrong, I wondered. How valuable would it be for the critics and their readers to re-evaluate "Generosity" in light of Wood's criticism, because he is the "greatest literary critic"?

Using the ability of the Internet to revise and rework my original review for future readers to come, we could respond to the master's complaints and set things right. Meanwhile, the print version would soon disappear into a recycling mill or bird cage.

Obviously, I'm not ready to adjust my thinking just to agree with Wood, despite his inflated reputation, but I am willing to reconsider my opinion if it's questioned by anybody.

If I have a change of heart, I see no reason why I can't update my review -- with the appropriate notice.

The revisions could be infinite, doing the review over and over until it's perfect, destroying its previous versions in the process.

Perfection. It's a heady thought.

"Bob Hoover's Book Club" is available exclusively at PG+, a members-only web site of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Our introduction to PG+ gives you all the details.