Category / Needless Intellectualizing

by Edward Champion

Caitlain Flanagan Declares War on Cocksucking

Caitlin Flanagan jumps the shark. No really. This book review has to be read to be believed. Everything from teenage oral sex to Ms. Flangan herself tittering at the prospect of mass fellatio (which, interestingly enough, Flanagan equates to “the province of prostitutes,” leaving us to wonder if Flanagan has somehow existed this long without experiencing the joys of oral sex) to an amateurish investigative effort by Flangan to confirm the mass fellatio. (Yes, really.)

I haven’t read an essay this unintentionally hilarious in a long time. That sentences such as “Somehow these girls have developed the indifferent attitude toward performing oral sex that one would associate with bitter, long-married women or streetwalkers” would be seriously considered in a 21st century magazine of ideas (the essay originally appeared The Atlantic) is astonishing to me. Maybe I just ain’t vanilla, but oral sex is hardly BDSM or felching or bukkake, nor does engaging in it immediately turn you into a jezebel or a gigolo. And by what standard do jejune yentas such as Flanagan determine what’s normal and what’s incorrigible? The magical gremlin permanently affixed to Flanagan’s skull who decides what’s right and what’s wrong after a drunken round of darts?

The kind of willing denial that Flanagan expresses here in lieu of trying to understand the issue (teenagers are becoming more promiscuous, like it or not) and in trying to parse whether the novel in question (Paul Ruditis’ Rainbow Party) answers this societal development is beyond preposterous. It’s dangerous. It promulgates a kind of fashionable bllindness in which it’s perfectly acceptable to remain horrified without trying to understand why one is having an emotional reaction. It imputes a mentality whereby one can never step outside of one’s hermetic paradigm and the results or effects of an sociological development are not just unexamined, but are immediately demonized as “evil.” Never mind that there’s likely some constructive value in trying to figure out why these “forbidden” impulses appeal to certain people, particularly when one is in charge of setting the boundaries. But in taking the myopic road out, Flanagan is no different from a paranoid Caucasian who immediately assumes that an African-American saying hello is out to carjack her.

That Flanagan’s essays have been embraced by the New Yorker and the Atlantic, while fostering such an anti-thinking approach, is a telling indicator that the world of letters isn’t ready for a serious discussion of these issues. It isn’t ready to accept the fact that, yes, teenagers have oral sex. More all the time. It isn’t ready to start answering questions. What does this mean? Is this necessarily bad? How did this develop and will we see teenagers start to embrace more violent and hardcore fantasies? And are these in turn bad? Is any of this a reaction to the way in which sex is so undiscussed in American society, particularly in the classroom? Was Jocelyn Elders ahead of her time?

The continued publication of Caitlin Flanagan’s essays is a disgrace to any magazine interested in raising these questions (or less provocative ones). Thank goodness that at least one of the Holy Trinity (Harper’s) has had the good sense not to publish such a flagrantly anti-intellectual writer.

For a more thoughtful take on a similar subject, see Naomi Wolf’s essay on how porn affects sexual conduct.

(via Jenny D)

by Edward Champion

Full List of Things That Benjamin Kunkel is Angry About

Culled from Mr. Sarvas’s painstaking retyping of a TLS article: “‘We’re angrier than Dave Eggers and his crowd,’ he told the Observer. Well, that’s promising, kind of. Angry about what? The war? Religious fundamentalism at home and abroad? Race and its discontents? – the big, Mailerite subejcts. No. Kunkel is angry about dating.”

For the benefit of those who follow n+1, here is a full list of issues that Ben Kunkel is angry about:

  1. The whole hot dog to hot dog bun ratio. Standup comedians have been mining this territory for years, but with Kunkel, it’s personal. A veritable supermarket jihad. A future issue of n+1 will try and track down the appropriate people responsible for this catastrophe, imagining a judicious world in which disreputable hot dog bun manufacturers are executed for their crimes against humanity.
  2. The bastards who cut you off on the freeway. While most commuters inevitably shake off the momentary fury of someone merging into a lane without checking their blind spots, Kunkel’s been keeping score. License plate numbers and full dossiers of car owners will be printed in future issues to come.
  3. Those call banks in India. Surely not enough has been said on the subject!
  4. Those who would decry beating a dead horse.
  5. How acid wash jeans are misunderstood.
  6. While competitor Eggers has frequently bemoaned men who don’t subscribe to the metrosexual code of shaving the neck, Kunkel has his own millstone: men who selfishly wear black socks to bed when their girlfriends aren’t around. Kunkel considers this sartorial gaffe to be a full-blown deception! In order for humanity to thrive, a certain dining out consistency, far from foolish, should be maintained. It is the American way.
  7. The charges leveled at Tony Danza.
  8. The guilt of illegally tearing a mattress tag off.
  9. People who bring in bag lunches (and, even wore, those Tupperware containers of last night’s leftovers) to work. Kunkel, awash in his own brilliance, has figured out the economic effect on small mom ‘n pop eateries, who rely upon office drones and their unassuming palates for their bread and butter.
  10. The avaricious impulse encouraged by the unlimited refill.
  11. The popularity of Jason Kottke.
  12. Men who wear Speedos in locker rooms.
  13. Women who don’t put out by the third date and the saps who love them.

[UPDATE: My colleague Scott Esposito also has some thoughts on the subject.]

by Edward Champion

Yes, You Too Might Be Running a Site Relating to Personal and Social Alienation

Haggis received an email. Things that come to mind:

1. What Google criteria did this Zolen Caro enthusiast use to pinpoint “sites related to personal and social alienation?

2. How is any site “trustworthy, linguistically clever and regularly visited,” much less gauged as such? Furthermore, what gets a young man to use such hilariously juxtaposed adverbs? (The influence of Tom Swifties?)

3. Since when does a hyperlink have an expiration date? I had no idea that there was a quid pro quo involved with casual linkage.

4. If anyone can help categorize this website under a completely baffling rubric by Google standards, I would greatly appreciate their advice.

by Edward Champion

Lewis, Lewis, Lewis & Lewis

The British literary scholar, Christian ap0logist, and children’s-book author C.S. Lewis is one of sixteen figures — Churchill is one, Gibbon is another, and there are fourteen more that I will leave you to find within the bulk of this silly essay — whose reputation in Britain is so different from their reputation in America that we might as well be talking about twenty-eight (or is that fifty-six?) different men. When one factors in red states and blue states, coastal towns and inland cities, naked people and clothed people, women and men, liberals and conservatives, the number of potential different men we are talking about quickly spills over into the hundreds. In this way, Lewis and Churchill may represent a literary mitosis that is sui generis. Both men were writers. Both men were British. Both men had the letter C in their names. In America, Churchill was a god for those who loved the letter C, in part because the Americans are taken with referring to authors by last names. In England, the C’s importance is emphasized with the Christian name. And Lewis (or C.S. as he preferred to be called on his book spines) was, of course, an ardent Christian.

The British, of course, are no strangers to authors with fancy initials. There is E.M. Forester and, more daringly, W. Somerset Maugham. Whereas in America, there is T.S. Eliot, who might easily be mistaken for an Englishman and the considerably more eccentric figure of H.P. Lovecraft, who is the hero of the horror fan. In fact, the general trend against initials has begun to pervade the British Isles, save the iconoclastic writer A.L. Kennedy, who, unlike Paul Simon, would never want you to call her Al.

It is generally believed that, like most married adults, Lewis had sexual relations with his wife. The Americans certainly believe this, but the British couldn’t reconcile the image of a children’s writer engaging in copulation. We can blame William Nicholson for all this, since he has pushed through endless adaptations of the same play for multiple formats. Our fact checker here at the New Yorker had to watch them all.

None of this would matter so much if there wasn’t a tie-in with a movie that seems to think it’s as big as Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings.

The six hundred and forty-two Lewises — too many to list here, really — we are left with could very well be a fictitious army inside our head. We were encouraged to set the number at 1,042, but David Remnick thought we were going too far. So we’ll just start slinging rhetoric. Is Narnia a name that sounds like a type of English marmalade? Unquestionably. As one reads through the copious press releases, skipping breakfast, lunch and dinner, one begins to hunger for the bowls of Turkish delight that are offered to the children. The simple truth is that Lewis was likely a man (or perhaps six hundred and forty-two men) who was too intricate to keep track of. Now, if you’ll excuse us, our evening repast awaits.