“I’m only voicing legitimate criticism” is a defense that any woman who’s bothered to accuse a man of “mansplaining” has heard, ad nauseam. Which is why my back gets up, a bit, when I hear “legitimate criticism” veneered on to a debate about criticism. (A side effect of the syndrome is that, presented with the concept, some men will feel it necessary to inform you, frequently at length, what it is that you don’t understand about mansplanation.) “And why do I need to be nice?” these men ask, when actually all you are asking is that they not approach you as some aspiring immigrant from another country, and one on the bad end of a trade deficit, at that. People say this is a fine line, but I don’t believe that; arrogance and intelligence are actually not that hard to distinguish from each other. One is a lot less easy to make fun of, that’s for sure. But let’s not let that hilariousness mask that the initial resistance matters, as it’s what allows a person to imagine he is writing about “literature” or “greatness” or “culture” when what he’s really writing about is the work of other men. Sure, a lot of such critics will punctuate their work with a reference to Joan Didion here, one to Toni Morrison there, or whoever else is deemed admissible that week. But just like Sontag’s offhand reference to the unnamed “feminists” defending Riefenstahl, it comes across as more lazy than actual, serious engagement with the many, many great (and varied) books that have been written by women. Anyone offended by that suggestion need only recall Rich’s request: it’s not dogma we want, but deeper complexity. But for those who still don’t get it, let me be the first to say, yes, don’t worry, you needn’t remind us: all your best Alice Munros are women.”

— Critics Who Explain Things | The Awl

2:40 pm  •  22 August 2012  •  2 notes