So National Book Critics Circle prez John Freeman made another one of his contributions to the Guardian blog, wondering where all the anti-Bush literature is, since Keith Olbermann‘s recent “mad as hell” moment on MSNBC led the reviewer to conclude that “this generation (with the notable exception of Gary Shteyngart and his Absurdistan) has been rather silent about the Bush years…no one is writing about rendition or torture or trumped up fears.” The glib answer, of course, would be “who needs novels when we’ve got every season of 24 on DVD?”, but one could just as easily point to Nicholson Baker‘s Checkpoint as just one example of the modern-day Our Gang Freeman practically keens for in his article.
But nitpicking Freeman’s thesis is only a distraction from the real story, which is the latest example of his uncanny knack for attracting cranks—someone who reads an awful lot like disgraced “memoirist” Tim Barrus and uses that author’s old Nasdijj alias. “American writers are afraid,” he sneers. “You can smell the fear among them and the stench will leave you breathless.” The best indication that this is the real deal: the relentless undercurrent of self-pity as Nasdijj describes what happens to writers who take risks:
“The gatekeepers will throw you into the street and getting back in will be a brick wall you cannot negotiate. You (sic) agent will disown you. Your publicist will have a cow. And ladies from Peroria (sic) will sue you to recover the cost of their books. Inferior tokens will denounce you in Time Magazine.”
That’s right: Nasdijj just called Sherman Alexie a “token.” As the kids say nowadays, oh, it’s on.