Category Archives: English

Realism Or Racism? (& Excellence Vs. Offal)

English, Literature, Racism, The Zeitgeist

I never tire of commending—and recommending—the generally apolitical Times Literary Supplement for its intellectual rigor. I’m equally energetic when it comes to berating that bit of dreck, the New York Review of Books, for its pamphleteering. The latter’s obtuse art and book critiques, interspersed as they are with lengthy political essays on the undisputed purity of Hamas or Cuban-styled healthcare, fall into the category of agitprop.

In a preface to his review of two books dealing broadly with the fraught topic of racial—or what I term rational—profiling, the TLS’s James Bowman doesn’t disappoint. He quotes the former Education Secretary, William Bennett, who created an uproar by saying that,—If you wanted to reduce crime, you could—if that were your sole purpose—you could abort every black baby in this country and your crime rate would go down. That would be an impossibly ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down.'”

“The remark,” observes Bowman matter-of-fact, “was widely characterized as ‘racist’ and President Bush was called upon to disavow the views of his fellow Republican—and he obliged with that new favorite substitute for moral judgement, the word ‘inappropriate.’ Yet while doubtless tactless—the sort of deliberate provocative comment that delights the philosophy professor, which is what Bennett used to be—his words had been in substance nothing more that a statement of the undisputed fact that in America black people proportionately commit more crimes than whites.” (My emphasis; Bowman’s words)

To underscore my original point, the TLS is generally liberal (although more classically so) but is committed to a heuristic pursuit of truth and excellence. The NYRB is left-liberal and dedicated to the crass promotion of specific political perspectives. If it reluctantly succumbs and discusses “the color of crime,” the “debate” is carefully in root-causes circumlocution and strictly confined to the Three P’s—the pale patriarchy, poverty, and powerlessness. No wonder the TLS is sophisticated and fascinating and the NYRB as pedestrian and dull as any good Bolshevik bulletin.

The Fellowship Of The ‘Tolkienophobes’

English, Media

I have no time for Tolkien and his “hobbit-worshipping” “hobbitomanes,” as writer R. J. Stove dubs them.

In “Vanilla Pie-in-the-Sky with Diamonds” I wrote:

The Lord of the Rings was once considered a children’s book. It appealed to adults with a proclivity for hobgoblins and gobbledygook. Never would I have predicted that grown-ups would levitate so far above their rational minds as to find this flight from reality worthy of such gush. At some stage it would seem developmentally appropriate for adults to cease craving a steady entertainment diet of fantasy, and develop an interest in real people, in relationships and in how flesh-and-blood make their way—and interact—in a complex world.

“Hollywood’s Hateful Hooey About the South” offered a variation on the theme:

Confronting Tolkien’s mediocre, myth-obsessed mind, Hugo Dyson, a member of Tolkien’s inner circle, let rip with a spontaneous slip of the tongue. As writer Kevin Michael Grace related, Dyson “once reacted to a Tolkien reading with, ‘Oh no! Not another f—ing elf!’ …
Recent ferment makes the nation’s entertainment choices even more alarming than I had previously thought.
In fact, it is particularly significant that a country which has created its own fable of reality in Iraq manifests a disturbing preference for entertainment with mythical and infantile subject matter. The American solipsistic view of reality lends itself nicely to the preoccupation with Tolkien, Harry Potter, and Peter Pan.
Having said this, let me offer a correction: Tolkien appeals to adults who believe in hobgoblins—the kind who believe that hobgoblins can make WMD vanish and can also unleash democracy from a genie bottle.

Now comes Stove and does one better in “The Pen and the Cross,” a book review for The American Conservative. Please note that Stove’s hobbit-hating interlude was provoked by the atrocious literary taste of the author whose book he was reviewing. Here is Stove’s response to said Tolkien terrorism:

Regarding Tolkien: here, launching timidly and vertiginously into the first person, I must declare a fault which may well scandalize at least half of TAC’s readership. I can no longer read any Tolkien; have never finished any of his books except (under duress) The Fellowship of the Ring; and have never been inspired by Tolkien to any emotion except sheepish ennui. Therefore I must take on trust Pearce’s glowing assessment of JRRT’s magnum opus. Evidently Lord of the Rings means more to him than even the Chesterbelloc does. If a Catholic Tolkienophobe may respectfully address a Tolkienophile, I would point out the oft-forgotten fact that although millions of Catholics now regard Tolkienophilia as an article of faith, this is an extremely recent phenomenon. During my 1970s adolescence (Pearce and I were both born in 1961), his cultists consisted largely and perhaps wholly of hirsute flower-children – beards imperative for both sexes – who regarded LOTR as a 1000-page acid trip. Hobbits, man, forests, man, far-out, man, groovy, man. Nobody ever told either the flower-children or me that the character of Galadriel alludes to the Virgin Mary. Nor, if we had been told it, would we have believed it. The championing of Tolkien by hippies, whom he would have rejected with the most blatant scorn, has implications for those who confuse other artists with such artists’ more asinine groupies. (Wagner, anyone?) Clearly Tolkienophiles will need Pearce’s latest exegeses to devour, to digest, and doubtless to argue about.

The Fellowship Of The 'Tolkienophobes'

English, Media

I have no time for Tolkien and his “hobbit-worshipping” “hobbitomanes,” as writer R. J. Stove dubs them.

In “Vanilla Pie-in-the-Sky with Diamonds” I wrote:

The Lord of the Rings was once considered a children’s book. It appealed to adults with a proclivity for hobgoblins and gobbledygook. Never would I have predicted that grown-ups would levitate so far above their rational minds as to find this flight from reality worthy of such gush. At some stage it would seem developmentally appropriate for adults to cease craving a steady entertainment diet of fantasy, and develop an interest in real people, in relationships and in how flesh-and-blood make their way—and interact—in a complex world.

“Hollywood’s Hateful Hooey About the South” offered a variation on the theme:

Confronting Tolkien’s mediocre, myth-obsessed mind, Hugo Dyson, a member of Tolkien’s inner circle, let rip with a spontaneous slip of the tongue. As writer Kevin Michael Grace related, Dyson “once reacted to a Tolkien reading with, ‘Oh no! Not another f—ing elf!’ …
Recent ferment makes the nation’s entertainment choices even more alarming than I had previously thought.
In fact, it is particularly significant that a country which has created its own fable of reality in Iraq manifests a disturbing preference for entertainment with mythical and infantile subject matter. The American solipsistic view of reality lends itself nicely to the preoccupation with Tolkien, Harry Potter, and Peter Pan.
Having said this, let me offer a correction: Tolkien appeals to adults who believe in hobgoblins—the kind who believe that hobgoblins can make WMD vanish and can also unleash democracy from a genie bottle.

Now comes Stove and does one better in “The Pen and the Cross,” a book review for The American Conservative. Please note that Stove’s hobbit-hating interlude was provoked by the atrocious literary taste of the author whose book he was reviewing. Here is Stove’s response to said Tolkien terrorism:

Regarding Tolkien: here, launching timidly and vertiginously into the first person, I must declare a fault which may well scandalize at least half of TAC’s readership. I can no longer read any Tolkien; have never finished any of his books except (under duress) The Fellowship of the Ring; and have never been inspired by Tolkien to any emotion except sheepish ennui. Therefore I must take on trust Pearce’s glowing assessment of JRRT’s magnum opus. Evidently Lord of the Rings means more to him than even the Chesterbelloc does. If a Catholic Tolkienophobe may respectfully address a Tolkienophile, I would point out the oft-forgotten fact that although millions of Catholics now regard Tolkienophilia as an article of faith, this is an extremely recent phenomenon. During my 1970s adolescence (Pearce and I were both born in 1961), his cultists consisted largely and perhaps wholly of hirsute flower-children – beards imperative for both sexes – who regarded LOTR as a 1000-page acid trip. Hobbits, man, forests, man, far-out, man, groovy, man. Nobody ever told either the flower-children or me that the character of Galadriel alludes to the Virgin Mary. Nor, if we had been told it, would we have believed it. The championing of Tolkien by hippies, whom he would have rejected with the most blatant scorn, has implications for those who confuse other artists with such artists’ more asinine groupies. (Wagner, anyone?) Clearly Tolkienophiles will need Pearce’s latest exegeses to devour, to digest, and doubtless to argue about.

Updated: Conjugate The Verb, Dammit!

English, Journalism

Kiefer Sutherland, in the role of Jack Bauer of “24,” was about to chop off a colleague’s hand. The Counter Terrorist Unit underling had been cuffed to a ticking time bomb. Saving his life meant severing the tethered hand. Or at least that was the scenario painted. So, on what was I fixated? I was fuming over scriptwriters and actors who can’t conjugate the verb to “lie.” Sutherland had just instructed the soon-to-be handless colleague to “lay” still. Bill Clinton did the same in a recent interview: “The Democrats cannot lay down and die,” he told the interviewer. Almost every single person on TV does it, with the exception of Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, and other old-timers. I once wrote to Bill O’Reilly for writing “laying on the beach,” or something similar, in a column. He never wrote back, but the error was promptly rectified, although he repeats it constantly in speech.
It’s “lie down and die,” not “lay down,” stupid! Repeat after me: “I am lying on the bed now. I lay on the bed yesterday. I had once lain on that very same bed. And I will, no doubt, lie on it again.”
Another conjugation crime is, “I had went” instead of “I had gone.”
Some time ago, I remarked to a writer that the past indicative and past participle of “spit” is “spat.” He had written something to the effect of: “yesterday I spit on his porch.” I like hillbilly culture but that was taking it to extremes.
Professor Michael Strumpf, creator of The National Grammar Hot Line, agrees. He has straightened out thousands of errant–and often arrogant–Americans over the years.
We all make mistakes. I’m always grateful when a vigilant reader corrects my spelling; it’s not very good. But some mistakes are particularly bad.

Update: Writer Kevin Grace has been brooding about bad writing, and, in particular, one “passionate voice for stupidity since well before 1984, who can’t write for toffee”: ex-politician Sheila Copps. Kevin wonders whether perhaps newspapers are just giving their readers what they want. “If literacy is now supererogatory and editors are otiose, if bad writing now pays better than good, then why kick against the pricks?”

Kevin’s premise here, however, is that newspaper editors know better. For the most, I think they don’t. Having retired the old guard, newspaper executives hire the young and hip only. The latter think it archaic and stodgy to insist on rules of usage (I’m not even sure their schools teach them the basics any longer). They court lax standards and would gladly sacrifice precision and passion for laidback coolness and ennui (it’s much less threatening to HUGE egos; Wonkette’s prose, anyone?).

As the post’s title suggests–and as Kevin knows all too well–the bad drive out the good.