So this self-appointed little wanker drivels out the most odious memoriam to Arthur Miller:
“And yet, the effectiveness of Death of a Salesman and The Crucible—Miller’s best work, by a large measure—suggest the man was something more than a propagandist turned into a literary icon … ”
(Ya think?)
“ … an author of minimal talent …”
Earth to wanker …
“whose reputation was grossly inflated by the recusant left.
Recusant. Are we to be spared nothing.
Rather, he falls into the category of writers of some real talent whose careers were blighted by their allegiance to leftist ideology.
Blighted. I must be blighted to have ever blogged this guy.
But what I am thinking, in the larger sense, is, why must conservative types be so steadily, bloody lame? This is what makes it all so complicated, to be not only capable of writing and signing your name to crap like this, to not only be small but to proudly display it to the world.
The thing is, you cannot disguise what these people think they can. The spirit either shines through or it doesn’t. Really, sifting through the comments on Miller’s death—the death of any great artist, I suppose … I reluctantly suppose—has been like turning over picture after picture, very few beautiful, of naked people, many of whom—the most foolish of whom—believe themselves to be wearing clothes.
