Monthly Archive for August, 2005

warning: this post may contain references to grammar

The dreaded time has come once again, as all things dreaded (taxes, the dentist, laundry day) seem to approach at lightning speed. Fall term begins in about a month, and I’ve got to prepare my courses and get some of that what they call "literary criticism" down on paper.   

Since the time when I began dissertating and was thus allowed to design the courses myself, I have taught something by Nabokov every term.  This time–finally!–it’ll be Pale Fire on the syllabus. 

I generally poke around a bit on the internet looking at reviews and such during my planning: an exercise in frustration and ire that burns with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns.  One review called the book "barely a novel," arguing, "it hardly warrants it’s 200 pages." Pure bollocks, obviously.

One thing that will stop me dead in my tracks and ensure that I will not even finish the first paragraph of a review, however, is if it begins thusly:

After the notoriety gained from his first novel written in
English (
Lolita), Nabokov’s next work was very different.

Are you kidding me, you asshat?  Nabokov’s first novel written in English was The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, which was published in 1941, fourteen years before Lolita.  And Pale Fire was hardly his "next work [after Lolita];" that was Pnin in 1957.  Then Pale Fire in 1962, a whopping twenty-one years after his "first novel written in English."  Jesus H. Christ.

The least he could do is a cursory check of the facts.  I won’t even waste time on the problem of the guy’s opening sentence: a say-nothing filler stuffed with straw (Pale Fire "was very different," you say? Oh, do tell).  Or that he’s never been taught to use the literary present tense or correctly hyphenate his compound modifiers. 

Some might argue that the above tirade is nothing more than a tangent distracting me from the work I should be doing today–not so!  Rather, it serves as a warm-up exercise for all of the grading I’ll soon have to do.  Gross inaccuracies?  Terrible writing? Check and check. 

Better still, given past events, it behooves me to familiarize myself with what’s out there on the interwebs, since it’ll inevitably get highlighted, copied, and pasted into some illiterate lummox’s term paper before long.

on my adolescent annoyance with reading

This slipped my attention for a while, but my “Open Letter to Philosophy”? seems to have made a bit of a stink over at Legless in Perpetuum, where a commenter named Devo (writing as “Philosophy”) takes umbrage at my ungrateful behavior. Go read his comment; it’s fantastic.

I am a bit sad though, that my first real internet hate mail wasn’t, you know, sent to me, or perhaps posted here where I’d have had a better chance of finding it.

guilty feet have got no rhythm

a three-sentence concert review

open letter to a letter

Hey, Letter!  Yeah, I am talking to you, you asshole.

You come up all sneaking into my mailbox, acting discrete in a business envelope, hidden between a power bill and a credit card offer.  You think you have me fooled, do you?  Well you have another think coming, amigo.

You strut in here to my desk, thinking you’re going to have me faint-hearted and lily-livered with a few emphatic, underlined words.  As if I’ll find myself longing for the sweet, guitary strains of “Living in the Past” and “Déjà Vu” all over again.

Well, letter, witness the quickness with which I dispose of your ass.  Your misspelled, all caps, poorly-punctuated ass.

S.W.A.K.,

Vague