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Critics' Critics, or, Who Watches the Watchmen?
“What a disadvantage for the man whose greatest vigor is intellectual! If nobody around us appreciates it, intelligence functions in the dark, distraught with resentment; it ceases to exist.”
—Adolfo Bioy Casares, trans. Suzanne Jill Levine As New Partisan readers may have noticed, I almost never enter into the swampy world of comments posted about an already-published article, but given the brouhaha Sam Munson’s latest dispatch has raised, I want to point out a few things about his quite vituperative and often profane critics. To begin with, I’m not friends with Mr. Munson (we’ve met in person just once), though I like him. As an editor and a freelance journalist I often have a nightmarish concern that many of my correspondents are doing little more than passing the Turing Test. Prior to editing Mr. Munson’s article, I was not familiar with Maud Newton’s site, which I found dull but not at all offensive. It struck me — and this is on a few quick scans, mind — as a place for hangers-on to enjoy the literary semi-underground (as when Ms. Newton drops Lydia Lunch’s name in her Happy Baby review, for instance).
With my dispositions disclosed, then, what struck me most about the responses, on New Partisan and elsewhere, to Mr. Munson’s piece was the if- you- have- to- ask- you’ll- just- never- know tone best encapsulated by a commenter called Gwenda, whose remarks in full read:
With my dispositions disclosed, then, what struck me most about the responses, on New Partisan and elsewhere, to Mr. Munson’s piece was the if- you- have- to- ask- you’ll- just- never- know tone best encapsulated by a commenter called Gwenda, whose remarks in full read:
I think it’s safe to say that Sam Munson just. doesn’t. get. it.
(And you can substitute what you like for the “it.”)
(And you can substitute what you like for the “it.”)
And this cultishness is also evident in the apparently chummy relations among most all the bloggers and comment writers who take on Mr. Munson’s article. Almost without exception, the bloggers Mr. Munson wrote about — Ms. Newton and Mark Sarvas — are referred to as Maud and Mark (in his response to Mr. Munson’s article, Mr. Sarvas also name checks Sarah and Ed, whoever they are). The phrase “Maud-bashing” is used several times, as though Maud is as instantly recognizable a noun as say, “gay.” And this is hardly the only example of bloggers and comment-writers reading off the same script, a subject I’ll return to later.
One blog entry that uses the brand new cliché of “Maud-bashing” assures the reader that “Mark says he’ll have a response” — all the readers of moorishgirl.com presumably know to which Mark this is referring — “and, knowing him,” — don’t we all? — “I’m sure we’re in for a treat.” Speaking as someone who doesn’t know him, I wasn’t especially impressed with his open letter to Mr. Munson or his response to Mr. Munson’s response to said open letter, which opens with the doth-protest-too-much claim that “I generally stay out of the backblog, not wanting to succumb to ‘lastwordism’.” Both men’s letters appear here — read and judge for yourself.
Mr. Munson’s critics mostly indulge in the same sin he accuses Ms. Newton of — failing to explain what they mean — though unlike Ms. Newton, they often engage in profanity and hysteria. Mostly, they seem to lean on Mr. Sarvas’s response, as with the blogger Bondgirl’s contribution to the debate, which is nothing but a link to Mr. Munson’s article reading “This guy is a jack-ass” and a link to Mr. Sarvas’s response. Others are less subtle and restrained, such as the blogger on EdRants who, in an entry entitled “Woof Woof: Who Let the Grads out?”, brags that “Mark’s opened up a can of whipass.” (To offer an additional instance of blogsphere as echo chamber, one of the comments under Mr. Sarvas’s article reads, in full, “Damn. That’s what I call opening a can of whoop ass!”) Taking the punny title a bit too literally, two different commentators call Mr. Munson a graduate student (clearly intending it as a slur, which I’m inclined to agree it is) and another sneeringly echoes Mr. Munson’s description of himself as “a newly minted B.A.,” perhaps under the impression he’s just started grad school. Such dull repetitions should be of great concern to those such as myself who care about blogs. They show how easily and often blogs can become one stop shopping for speaking points, an easy way of getting the day’s dose of either partisan virulence, in-club belongingness, or both. As Mr. Sarvas has it,
One blog entry that uses the brand new cliché of “Maud-bashing” assures the reader that “Mark says he’ll have a response” — all the readers of moorishgirl.com presumably know to which Mark this is referring — “and, knowing him,” — don’t we all? — “I’m sure we’re in for a treat.” Speaking as someone who doesn’t know him, I wasn’t especially impressed with his open letter to Mr. Munson or his response to Mr. Munson’s response to said open letter, which opens with the doth-protest-too-much claim that “I generally stay out of the backblog, not wanting to succumb to ‘lastwordism’.” Both men’s letters appear here — read and judge for yourself.
Mr. Munson’s critics mostly indulge in the same sin he accuses Ms. Newton of — failing to explain what they mean — though unlike Ms. Newton, they often engage in profanity and hysteria. Mostly, they seem to lean on Mr. Sarvas’s response, as with the blogger Bondgirl’s contribution to the debate, which is nothing but a link to Mr. Munson’s article reading “This guy is a jack-ass” and a link to Mr. Sarvas’s response. Others are less subtle and restrained, such as the blogger on EdRants who, in an entry entitled “Woof Woof: Who Let the Grads out?”, brags that “Mark’s opened up a can of whipass.” (To offer an additional instance of blogsphere as echo chamber, one of the comments under Mr. Sarvas’s article reads, in full, “Damn. That’s what I call opening a can of whoop ass!”) Taking the punny title a bit too literally, two different commentators call Mr. Munson a graduate student (clearly intending it as a slur, which I’m inclined to agree it is) and another sneeringly echoes Mr. Munson’s description of himself as “a newly minted B.A.,” perhaps under the impression he’s just started grad school. Such dull repetitions should be of great concern to those such as myself who care about blogs. They show how easily and often blogs can become one stop shopping for speaking points, an easy way of getting the day’s dose of either partisan virulence, in-club belongingness, or both. As Mr. Sarvas has it,
The reason that people will visit five or six literary blogs in the course of day is not for objective content. All too often we link to the same stories anyway. We seek out a personal take. I want to know what Maud thinks about Dale Peck. … which is terribly subjective. And all of which is a damned sight more interesting than any objective thoughts about anything that you might have.
And if you think virulence is an overstatement, consider the following comment: “Maud is … great at what she does and never pretends to be something she’s not. She is unfailingly generous and civil…” But this writer declines to follow Ms. Newton’s example, instead telling Mr. Munson to “Leave her the fuck alone.” That for all those eager to explain how blogs elevate discourse.
Personally, I hate comments fields. I think letters about articles or even blog entries should be considered for worth and line edited before running. Otherwise you get this sort of nonsense. But my authors like the feedback — the quick high of instant reader response — and I defer in this instance to their wishes. We’re half a blog ourselves, and I presume we Partisans are all in it for the love, since there’s no pay.
In his open letter, Mr. Sarvas, in his chiding first-name tone, demands:
Personally, I hate comments fields. I think letters about articles or even blog entries should be considered for worth and line edited before running. Otherwise you get this sort of nonsense. But my authors like the feedback — the quick high of instant reader response — and I defer in this instance to their wishes. We’re half a blog ourselves, and I presume we Partisans are all in it for the love, since there’s no pay.
In his open letter, Mr. Sarvas, in his chiding first-name tone, demands:
Think about it, Sam. (Because clearly you haven’t.) What else could compel a person to launch and maintain a daily site for no money and the dubious privilege of being side-swiped by cranky, defensive second-guessers like yourself? Here’s the word you need to remember: “Passion.” Not only is it not a dirty word, I’d venture to say it’s the reason that most people seek out the blogs they read — to bask in the passion of their host.
We’re here out of Passion. But not the sort that demands an end to second guessing, including of each other. To the feast of friends Mr. Sarvas brags about, I can only reply with the Groucho Marx line about not wanting to belong to any club that would have me. We’d like a conversation. But we’re not the ones cursing, or launching into personal attacks on people we’ve never met. To go back to Casares, “Sometimes I think that people alone are crazy and that they cease to be so in conversation. Conversation imposes a level of common sense.” Dialogue is what keeps intelligence from vanishing into the dark. The question is, does the small world of literary blogs want conversation, or a monologue preformed by the chorus?
The response to Mr. Munson’s article suggests the latter. While a few of the comments are more serious in tone, the blog world has in effect rather lazily designated Mr. Sarvas as the spokesperson for its objections to Mr. Munson. All the other bloggers and most of the comment-leavers are content to name call and, as per my above concern about the blog as a closed feedback system, simply name check Mr. Sarvas’s argument as though that should suffice to end the debate. But Mr. Sarvas’s much-hyped comeuppance to our man is, to my mind, merely dated futurist ravings of the edge-of-now variety, inked in a colloquial postmodernism intended to deflect accusations of grad school attendance, but as word-drunk and pointless as a Foucault-worshipper’s dissertation — for example, “what are the benchmarks of ‘a certain rigor’? It feels decidedly subjective and slippery-slopish to me.” What really separates Mr. Sarvas from all but the most ambitious grad school students is his penchant for ad hominem attacks:
The response to Mr. Munson’s article suggests the latter. While a few of the comments are more serious in tone, the blog world has in effect rather lazily designated Mr. Sarvas as the spokesperson for its objections to Mr. Munson. All the other bloggers and most of the comment-leavers are content to name call and, as per my above concern about the blog as a closed feedback system, simply name check Mr. Sarvas’s argument as though that should suffice to end the debate. But Mr. Sarvas’s much-hyped comeuppance to our man is, to my mind, merely dated futurist ravings of the edge-of-now variety, inked in a colloquial postmodernism intended to deflect accusations of grad school attendance, but as word-drunk and pointless as a Foucault-worshipper’s dissertation — for example, “what are the benchmarks of ‘a certain rigor’? It feels decidedly subjective and slippery-slopish to me.” What really separates Mr. Sarvas from all but the most ambitious grad school students is his penchant for ad hominem attacks:
utterly bewildered and in way over your head.
your obvious ignorance
If you had taken the time to contemplate this question, you might have arrived at the list of four above all by your lonesome and not embarrassed yourself with your subsequent outpouring.
an old-school journalistic type like yourself who merely seeks the one way soapbox
What else could compel a person to launch and maintain a daily site for no money and the dubious privilege of being side-swiped by cranky, defensive second-guessers like yourself? Here’s the word you need to remember: “Passion.”
Now, let’s get down to some brass tacks, Sammy.
there’s a key second part of that equation that you necessarily overlook because it portends some pretty ugly shit vis-à-vis your own existence
you demonstrate a singular narrow-mindedness and inflexibility
your obvious ignorance
If you had taken the time to contemplate this question, you might have arrived at the list of four above all by your lonesome and not embarrassed yourself with your subsequent outpouring.
an old-school journalistic type like yourself who merely seeks the one way soapbox
What else could compel a person to launch and maintain a daily site for no money and the dubious privilege of being side-swiped by cranky, defensive second-guessers like yourself? Here’s the word you need to remember: “Passion.”
Now, let’s get down to some brass tacks, Sammy.
there’s a key second part of that equation that you necessarily overlook because it portends some pretty ugly shit vis-à-vis your own existence
you demonstrate a singular narrow-mindedness and inflexibility
All of which amounts to little more than “fuck you, you fucking fuck,” to quote from Blue Velvet in deference to the many degenerate hipsters I suspect have linked directly to this page from whatever lit-blogs, and are now doubtless preparing indignant responses on the level of those already mentioned.
But to return to Sarvas, his rhetoric about blogs is wonderfully dated — futurist, to put an era on it — full of hope for their liberating potential, breathlessly borrowing empty threats from old manifestos: “The world has changed, Sam. Adapt and survive. Or cling to old ideas and be swept away into irrelevance.”
I write for two blogs, and this is so much hooey, and much the same hooey that we’ve heard about every new technology since at least the radio. His wide-eyed enthusiasm suggests to me that he and his followers are culture-slummers, too damn eager to be on the cutting edge but in fact just straddling it instead. (Picture the image, and you’ll see my point).
As to Ms. Newton, I had till this moment been planning on praising her for standing above the fray, merely posting a few brief remarks and then pointing people to Mr. Sarvas’s post. But as I consider how nasty his post is, and how she points to it with glee on her own site, her posture reminds me more and more of politicians who let their attack dogs do the dirty work.
What’s funny is that the smartest attack, hands-down, is from Mr. Munson’s fellow Partisan, David Walley, who takes Mr. Munson on, quite fairly I think, for the needless and showy difficulty of his language, which at times blocks the view that should link his words to his point. Walley remarks that Mr. Munson strikes him as “some kind of literary fetishist who’s writing with winter gloves on, or latex gloves…” What distinguishes this from the likes of Ms. Newton, Mr. Sarvas and their gaggle of echoing defenders is that he goes on to explain what this means: “in as far as there’s an obvious disconnect inherent between what you’re saying and how you’re saying it.” Now that, in a sentence, is criticism.
The choice bloggers such as Mr. Sarvas offer between passion and editing is phony, the penultimate refuge of the lazy (free verse poetry is still the first). I make a living as a freelance writer and researcher, am writing a book on gentrification in New York, and editing more than 5,000 words of copy weekly. What Mr. Sarvas’s false choice inadvertently reveals is the narcissism and first-namism of the blog world, where everyone wants to be a star and no one wants to put in the time to edit. The fact that there is no decent financial incentive to be an editor doesn’t help things, though pointing out that this may be a motivating factor in the denunciation of the editor leads to unpleasant notions about how genuine the Passion of some actually is. What’s more, I’m skeptical blogs change any more minds than, say, TNR or the Weekly Standard. I think they just make it easier for folks to sop in same-mindedness and pre-digested facts and idea-patterns of the sort they’re already amenable to.
To give Mr. Sarvas the last word, “It’s entirely possible to divine one’s literary enthusiasms over time without needing long reviews and formal criticisms. There have been enough times where Maud’s taste dovetails with mine that she’s become a trusted source for me.” And that just about sums up the problem.
—Harry Siegel for the EditorsBut to return to Sarvas, his rhetoric about blogs is wonderfully dated — futurist, to put an era on it — full of hope for their liberating potential, breathlessly borrowing empty threats from old manifestos: “The world has changed, Sam. Adapt and survive. Or cling to old ideas and be swept away into irrelevance.”
I write for two blogs, and this is so much hooey, and much the same hooey that we’ve heard about every new technology since at least the radio. His wide-eyed enthusiasm suggests to me that he and his followers are culture-slummers, too damn eager to be on the cutting edge but in fact just straddling it instead. (Picture the image, and you’ll see my point).
As to Ms. Newton, I had till this moment been planning on praising her for standing above the fray, merely posting a few brief remarks and then pointing people to Mr. Sarvas’s post. But as I consider how nasty his post is, and how she points to it with glee on her own site, her posture reminds me more and more of politicians who let their attack dogs do the dirty work.
What’s funny is that the smartest attack, hands-down, is from Mr. Munson’s fellow Partisan, David Walley, who takes Mr. Munson on, quite fairly I think, for the needless and showy difficulty of his language, which at times blocks the view that should link his words to his point. Walley remarks that Mr. Munson strikes him as “some kind of literary fetishist who’s writing with winter gloves on, or latex gloves…” What distinguishes this from the likes of Ms. Newton, Mr. Sarvas and their gaggle of echoing defenders is that he goes on to explain what this means: “in as far as there’s an obvious disconnect inherent between what you’re saying and how you’re saying it.” Now that, in a sentence, is criticism.
The choice bloggers such as Mr. Sarvas offer between passion and editing is phony, the penultimate refuge of the lazy (free verse poetry is still the first). I make a living as a freelance writer and researcher, am writing a book on gentrification in New York, and editing more than 5,000 words of copy weekly. What Mr. Sarvas’s false choice inadvertently reveals is the narcissism and first-namism of the blog world, where everyone wants to be a star and no one wants to put in the time to edit. The fact that there is no decent financial incentive to be an editor doesn’t help things, though pointing out that this may be a motivating factor in the denunciation of the editor leads to unpleasant notions about how genuine the Passion of some actually is. What’s more, I’m skeptical blogs change any more minds than, say, TNR or the Weekly Standard. I think they just make it easier for folks to sop in same-mindedness and pre-digested facts and idea-patterns of the sort they’re already amenable to.
To give Mr. Sarvas the last word, “It’s entirely possible to divine one’s literary enthusiasms over time without needing long reviews and formal criticisms. There have been enough times where Maud’s taste dovetails with mine that she’s become a trusted source for me.” And that just about sums up the problem.
**********************************
Follow-up: I posted a link to this article on Mr. Sarvas’s website, beneath his open letter, only to see it disappear within hours. Proof it was there are the comments addressed to “Sam and Harry” and “Mr. Siegel” with no Harry Siegel to be seen. What sloppy (and petty) Stalinism.
So much for the merits of debate and the responsiveness of bloggers to their readership (who serve as the new editors, as Mr. Sarvas has it). It’s always something to see a self-appointed and -selected gang of outsiders bully up on those who disagree with them; a herd of self-proclaimed cats walking in lock-step.
As I’m sure you’re aware, my co-editor Tim Marchman removed your profanity, not your comment. The pertinent section now reads “You’re a rude little [so-and-so—eds.], and a gutless one at that.” Any reader wanting to check can go to
http://www.newpartisan.com/display/ShowJournalEntry?moduleId=4763&entryId=33569
and confirm this for themselves. I’m also not clear what profanity of mine you’re referring to, but congrats on that, since it means your censorship has trumped my memory .
My guess is you offer this flimsy explanation for taking down a substantive post to placate the true believers, thus your half-assed attempt at cleverness, which to any fair minded observer is a too-obvious-by-half denial of your apparent instinct toward censorship. Also, I thought you referred to their foes by their likely nicknames (Sammy) in the fashion of sports-talk radio hosts, so I’d prefer to be addressed as H-Rock from here on in. It’s telling how quickly you give up on the rhetoric of the great bloggers conversation.
So much for the merits of debate and the responsiveness of bloggers to their readership (who serve as the new editors, as Mr. Sarvas has it). It’s always something to see a self-appointed and -selected gang of outsiders bully up on those who disagree with them; a herd of self-proclaimed cats walking in lock-step.
**********************************
Follow-up 2: Mark Sarvas has replied with the following:
Mr. Siegel,
You removed my comment for profanity. I did the same the yours. The
cleaned comment can remain.
To which we respond:
Mr. Sarvas,
Mr. Siegel,
You removed my comment for profanity. I did the same the yours. The
cleaned comment can remain.
To which we respond:
Mr. Sarvas,
As I’m sure you’re aware, my co-editor Tim Marchman removed your profanity, not your comment. The pertinent section now reads “You’re a rude little [so-and-so—eds.], and a gutless one at that.” Any reader wanting to check can go to
http://www.newpartisan.com/display/ShowJournalEntry?moduleId=4763&entryId=33569
and confirm this for themselves. I’m also not clear what profanity of mine you’re referring to, but congrats on that, since it means your censorship has trumped my memory .
My guess is you offer this flimsy explanation for taking down a substantive post to placate the true believers, thus your half-assed attempt at cleverness, which to any fair minded observer is a too-obvious-by-half denial of your apparent instinct toward censorship. Also, I thought you referred to their foes by their likely nicknames (Sammy) in the fashion of sports-talk radio hosts, so I’d prefer to be addressed as H-Rock from here on in. It’s telling how quickly you give up on the rhetoric of the great bloggers conversation.
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Beyond matters of style, a good editor would have helped Sam recast his piece as a serious critique of lit-blog criticism instead of a petty snark on Maud Newton. Then I think we'd be having a different and better conversation.
You identify yourself as an editor and a freelance journalist, state that you edited this piece by Mr. Munson, and assert that "What's funny is that the smartest attack, hands-down, is from Mr. Munson's fellow Partisan, David Walley, who takes Mr. Munson on, quite fairly I think, for the needless and showy difficulty of his language, which at times blocks the view that should link his words to his point. Walley remarks that Mr. Munson strikes him as "some kind of literary fetishist who's writing with winter gloves on, or latex gloves" ...he goes on to explain what this means: "in as far as there?s an obvious disconnect inherent between what you?re saying and how you?re saying it." Now that, in a sentence, is criticism."
I agree. My question for you (as a fellow editor) is shouldn't you have dealt with "the needless and showy difficulty of his language" before you published this piece? Or at least cut all those adverbs?
To begin a conversation and explain what I mean, I have taken the liberty of cleaning up Munson's lede:
"No discussion today of the intensely personal relationships between authors and their critics would be complete without a mention of blogs. There are more than one million blogs, each animated by a different set of passions; it would be foolish to attempt a general statement about their place in literary culture. But very little has been said about the merits and flaws of any particular blog, especially when we consider the prominence some have achieved, at least in terms of readership. Today, I want to examine a fairly recent post on Maud Newton's blog, a review of the book "Happy Baby" by Stephen Elliott.
This particular entry is something of a rara avis. Ms. Newton's blog deals in literary news and oddments: announcements of publication, prize-winnings, coverage of literary feuds, grammar and literary trivia quizzes, and the like). For culture reporters and readers who wish to be kept abreast of the most recent literary news, she serves as an invaluable clearinghouse.
One of Ms. Newton's fellow bloggers, Mark Sarvas, has remarked that he turns to her when he feels in need of acute, intelligent commentary on a particular book. I have read her site for some time, but I had seen very little in the way of commentary. From reading her economium to Stephen Elliott, it seems that Ms. Newton only reviews a book when she is deeply moved by it."
You're right: for blogs and online magazines alike, "the choice... between passion and editing is phony." But if you're going to champion the importance of editing, you might be more consistent with your capitalization of "passion."
Please don't blame Harry. He's insanely overworked and under(not)paid. Blame me for writing something that barely met his editorial standards, which are high.
Your edit is first-rate.
All the questions I asked were asked in good faith; all the criticism meant honestly. But Sam Jones read them as sarcasm, and Mark Sarvas and Daniel Green read them as some kind of Juvenalian polemic, which was not my intention. It's amazing what too many adverbs can do.
As I said on TEV, it's always useful to see when your tone has failed. But I find it hard to believe that the vitriolic response was solely provoked by my tone, which was high-handed but not that high-handed.
Anyway, thanks for editing me.