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Sep. 26th, 2003 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taratemimaAt work today, I thought of the strange assumption that seems to be common to both Harold Bloom and his bugaboos mentioned in the LA Times editoral. You know, the eval eval English department people who read obscure Romantic woman poets and have lectures about Walt Whitman being racist.
(Side note: Whitman a racist? I'd imagine he'd be drolling after men no matter their skin color . . .never mind)
There seems to be a distrust of pleasure as a legitimate motive to read. A book has be as thick and heavy as an iron lung to make Bloom and some of his ideological opponents happy.
I thought of writing a rant about it. She condensed it for me.
(Side note: Whitman a racist? I'd imagine he'd be drolling after men no matter their skin color . . .never mind)
There seems to be a distrust of pleasure as a legitimate motive to read. A book has be as thick and heavy as an iron lung to make Bloom and some of his ideological opponents happy.
I thought of writing a rant about it. She condensed it for me.
