The physical activity of writing was nothing to him. When it came to pensive reflections of man and his existential condition (as mirrored in the experiences of Robert P.), foreign film reviews that were allowed to make as little sense as the films themselves, extended discussions of how the pert French breasts in those films could not really be deconstructed, Derrida or no Derrida, and long, protracted discussions of how people — particularly food service personnel — misunderstood him, Robert was a machine. If it was narcissism and self-indulgence you were after, he could write like a bat out of the bad place.
Douglas Wilson, Evangellyfish
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Can we ban the word “pert” from the English language? It’s mainly used in creepy descriptions . . .
I suspect no one else on earth is capable of using a 71-word sentence, and yet saying so little.
I think the reader is supposed to be impressed that he wrote a 71-word sentence and not think too much about the actual quality of the content. Since DW wrote it one must take the brilliance as a given so, you know, be impressed that way too. Or at least have the decency to think yourself stupid for not being impressed.
Narcissism. Check.
Self-indulgence. Check.
Writing like a bat out of a bad place. Check.
Doug Wilson, thou wordsmith, heal thyself.
Apparently most of what Wilson writes is a projection of his fusty ole’ self. Including his preoccupation with breasts (esp those always-pert French ones :eyeroll:).
“If it was narcissism and self-indulgence you were after, he could write like a bat out of the bad place.” “…the bad place”? Really? Is he trying to stay in character while explaining a character who certainly would not blanch at the word “hell”? That’s third-rate writing for a self-described ‘wordsmith’.
He is too uninteresting to be the subject of himself, all the time everywhere. But neither can he do logic to save himself. And he’s too lazy to do proper scholarship—can’t even get the civil war correct, and constantly goes awry regarding ancient texts, such as Beowulf and the Bible.
The one thing he is good at? Sarcasm. He might do ok at a small comedy club in Boise, late night. He could get a day-job driving UPS.
Yeah, that’s it. Save everyone a lot of trouble.
A deeply flawed and pathetic manifestation of stream of consciousness writing. Doug offers the reader an extraordinary example of how James Joyce can become Mortimore Sneard in 71 words.
Rose Huskey
That last sentence keeps making me laugh and is quite on target. Thanks, Rose. 🙂