Thursday, July 01, 2004

High–minded vitriol

Cover of

It’s about time we stopped using ‘high–minded’ as a cliché and started understanding it to mean a sort of crystalline, passionate venting of the intellect. The passion has drained from op–ed journalism these days. People no longer say what they really feel, and I’m absolutely sure that many such writers consciously think about their writing *style*, rather than their *true beliefs* when they write.

That said, and without cliché myself, I have not read any recent writing (apart, of course, from poetry) as high–minded as this article in the Village Voice by Gary Indiana:

Despite the cornucopia of bijoux items from the crackpot right and free-range, publicity–addicted blabbermouths that publishers like HarperCollins and other multinational subsidy boutiques were touting a mere nine months ago as wonderful additions to whatever bookshelves American homes still feature as decorative touches, even the antic Ms. Coulter would have to concede—well, actually, I doubt it—that the popularity of these offerings has been remarkably transient, and most did nothing in sales next to Hillary Clinton's recent blockbuster. It seems that Americans who can still afford to buy a book, and are able to read one, prefer political books that appeal to their better natures instead of their baser instincts and favor writing that offers, at the very least, some hope that diverse people might one day live in acceptance of difference and the golden rule instead of eternal antagonism and warfare.

Yes. He did write a single paragraph that long and use only two sentences. Grammatically he’s verbosely shite, but what the hell does that matter when what he says makes so much sense?

(I’m not just talking about Clinton’s book now, by the way. Hehe.)

The (genuinely funny, and heartening) thing is, this has been called a book review. I’m sure Indiana started it as one, but his passion for his wider subject just overtook it, so I present it to you as a superb example of how firecely an idealistic fire can burn, in even a journalistic breast.

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