The Cranky Critic
Borges was stuck on the moon, too--and on windows, mirrors, and other (let's face it) trite poetic props--yet it would be hard to fault him for a lack of imagination. Still, "imaginative failure" was my prevailing criticism of the first issue of Cranky, a local literary journal that I reviewed in this column two weeks ago and that, in its first issue, contains four pieces set at the beach, eight about birds, six that employ the word "moon," and nine that employ the word "tree."
The piece inspired a cranky letter from the editors of Cranky and infuriated treefulls of moon-happy poets. (By the way: The difference between Borges and what's in Cranky? Borges' repetitions give physical body to intellectual and emotional content; they do not exist in place of intellectual and emotional content.) The Cranky editors wrote to say they were "surprised" by my review. "Not that we were surprised by its tone of cynicism and dismissal (we wouldn't expect anything else from The Stranger), but rather that your paper would include any notice of our endeavors, especially when we didn't invite the press to our release party (it was intended as a private celebration...)." The letter (which can be found on our website) concluded, "While it's easy to smirk and make snide remarks, it's another thing entirely to be sincere, and we offer Cranky without cynicism or scorn. We stand behind the sincerity that The Stranger is quick to dismiss."
Hmm. Strange to accuse a reviewer of cynicism and dismissal and then to cynically dismiss a whole newspaper; strange, this assertion that the release party was "private," since most people throwing private parties don't have them in restaurants filled with unsuspecting diners and bring microphones; strange, too, the implication that a reviewer needs to be "invited" to write about poetry. (A journal isn't like a play. Once something's published, it's open for review.)
The most striking thing about the letter is how perfectly it falls in line with the insidious, ridiculous, anti-idea attitude that pervades and cripples local arts. The if-you-don't-have-something-nice-to-say-don't-review-our-literary-journal attitude leaves no room for discussion or debate, no room for getting excited or worked up. I devoted a column to Cranky because I take Cranky seriously. I took it to task not with "the good-hearted locals" in mind (as one poet described the Cranky editors), but with the guy at the newsstand in mind, wondering if he should buy the thing, because I take him seriously.
And because I take writing seriously. I hope the next issue of Cranky knocks me out with its intelligence and humor and sadness and language and, yes, its imagery. Invite or not, I'm probably going to review it.
