You see this idea--that negative reviews should be binned rather than published--a fair amount nowadays, and I truly don't get it. What's the point of engaging in cultural criticism if you're going to stifle every negative or critical review? "If you can't say anything nice, say nothing" is a fine rule for interpersonal interactions but a terrible one for media criticism, in my opinion.
And FWIW, I'm not even entirely on board with this review; I haven't read the book, but some of the specific lines that the reviewer excoriates seem better to me than they did to him (the idea of a future "abstract with possibility" seems to me to have more nuance and heft than the reviewer credits, for example). But that's fine; it was an interesting review! And I'd never even heard of this book or author before, so I'd wager there's at least a small "all publicity is good publicity" effect here too.
Why such a long review for what is, in the writer's opinion, a dull trope? I couldn't finish it. This sort of listicle is what keeps me from subscribing, let alone paying to privilege, Metropolitan Review.
Long ago an art form was in vogue which I very much admired. Tragically, it has become extinct. It was killed off by our time zone, a time zone in which the free expression of opinion is frowned upon, and often prohibited altogether.
The extinct art form in question was once the mainstay of the Arts sections of reputable newspapers, in the days when newspapers were still referred to as ‘The Fourth Estate.’
I refer, of course, to The Hatchet Job.
Feared and detested by authors and playwrights alike, The Hatchet Job could bring the curtain down on a promising literary career, and it strangled many a literary career at birth. It even laid low revered Men of Letters, reducing them to the status of laughing stocks. I heard of one who was so crushed by a Hatchet Job that he became a suicidal recluse.
There used to be few pleasures in life quite so enjoyable as seeing the pretensions of an author skewered by an expert Hatchet Job. Said pretentious author would be swiftly propelled into obscurity, with hoots of derision loudly ringing in his ears.
I have long lamented the demise of The Hatchet Job.
Hence, I must express my delight at reading this review, or rather, this merciless butchering, of Andrew Ewell’s ‘Set for Life.’ I have little doubt that Blake Smith, (or ‘The Butcher’ as he might from now on be better known) has done us all a favor; and that the author Andrew Ewell and his wretched book deserve all they got at Blake’s bloodied hands. But if they did not, if the book is a masterpiece and the author a saint, we can still enjoy The Butcher’s masterful takedown for its own sake, and need feel no guilt in doing so.
I can only hope that your columnist Blake Smith does not regard this piece as a one-off, and that he intends it to be the start of a revival of The Hatchet Job.
cinematography shot almost entirely in clear, simple, straightforward story-beats set one after another in a sequence going nowhere, like in a marvel movie or american election
An apparently middling novel lands with barely a ripple, and yet it merits a full-throated thrashing in Metropolitan Review. If the critic is correct about the book--and who knows if he is--the question surrounding the novel is the same as the one surrounding the review, who cares?
Quick and sharp is the executioner's blade.
What's the point of completely trashing someone else's novel? Sounds more like a personal vendetta than a thoughtful review.
You see this idea--that negative reviews should be binned rather than published--a fair amount nowadays, and I truly don't get it. What's the point of engaging in cultural criticism if you're going to stifle every negative or critical review? "If you can't say anything nice, say nothing" is a fine rule for interpersonal interactions but a terrible one for media criticism, in my opinion.
And FWIW, I'm not even entirely on board with this review; I haven't read the book, but some of the specific lines that the reviewer excoriates seem better to me than they did to him (the idea of a future "abstract with possibility" seems to me to have more nuance and heft than the reviewer credits, for example). But that's fine; it was an interesting review! And I'd never even heard of this book or author before, so I'd wager there's at least a small "all publicity is good publicity" effect here too.
Agreed; why bother?
Why such a long review for what is, in the writer's opinion, a dull trope? I couldn't finish it. This sort of listicle is what keeps me from subscribing, let alone paying to privilege, Metropolitan Review.
Idiocracy = Mediocracy in the arts/entertainment/media, Kakistocracy in government. Accept it and move on if possible....
Sirs;
Long ago an art form was in vogue which I very much admired. Tragically, it has become extinct. It was killed off by our time zone, a time zone in which the free expression of opinion is frowned upon, and often prohibited altogether.
The extinct art form in question was once the mainstay of the Arts sections of reputable newspapers, in the days when newspapers were still referred to as ‘The Fourth Estate.’
I refer, of course, to The Hatchet Job.
Feared and detested by authors and playwrights alike, The Hatchet Job could bring the curtain down on a promising literary career, and it strangled many a literary career at birth. It even laid low revered Men of Letters, reducing them to the status of laughing stocks. I heard of one who was so crushed by a Hatchet Job that he became a suicidal recluse.
There used to be few pleasures in life quite so enjoyable as seeing the pretensions of an author skewered by an expert Hatchet Job. Said pretentious author would be swiftly propelled into obscurity, with hoots of derision loudly ringing in his ears.
I have long lamented the demise of The Hatchet Job.
Hence, I must express my delight at reading this review, or rather, this merciless butchering, of Andrew Ewell’s ‘Set for Life.’ I have little doubt that Blake Smith, (or ‘The Butcher’ as he might from now on be better known) has done us all a favor; and that the author Andrew Ewell and his wretched book deserve all they got at Blake’s bloodied hands. But if they did not, if the book is a masterpiece and the author a saint, we can still enjoy The Butcher’s masterful takedown for its own sake, and need feel no guilt in doing so.
I can only hope that your columnist Blake Smith does not regard this piece as a one-off, and that he intends it to be the start of a revival of The Hatchet Job.
Never was there a more worthy cause!
Pip, pip!
Andrew Komarnyckyj
Gratuitously mean and inexplicably angry. Quite a combo.
cinematography shot almost entirely in clear, simple, straightforward story-beats set one after another in a sequence going nowhere, like in a marvel movie or american election
An apparently middling novel lands with barely a ripple, and yet it merits a full-throated thrashing in Metropolitan Review. If the critic is correct about the book--and who knows if he is--the question surrounding the novel is the same as the one surrounding the review, who cares?
Out of all your essays, this one I don’t particularly get. :(
Well, this was... an interesting read?