I really don’t get it.

It was reflexively, and stupidly, counter-intuitive in all the time that I was aware of it, it hasn’t broken a major story in decades, and it has appeared to see its mission as a way for country-club liberals to excuse their own privilige and entitlement. (It’s also been affirmative action for white Ivy Leaguers with degrees in English)

One of the things that its supporters have pointed to is the dense literary writings of the magazine’s now former literary editor Leon Wieseltier.

I never read his stuff.  While I read some (not enough) literature, I have no urge to read people who write about literature.

It just seems to be an exercise in solipsism to me.

But Atrios pointed me to this bit of Graphorrhea that Mr. Wieseltier wrote for the New York Times:

Amid the bacchanal of disruption, let us pause to honor the disrupted. The streets of American cities are haunted by the ghosts of bookstores and record stores, which have been destroyed by the greatest thugs in the history of the culture industry. Writers hover between a decent poverty and an indecent one; they are expected to render the fruits of their labors for little and even for nothing, and all the miracles of electronic dissemination somehow do not suffice for compensation, either of the fiscal or the spiritual kind. Everybody talks frantically about media, a second-order subject if ever there was one, as content disappears into “content.” What does the understanding of media contribute to the understanding of life? Journalistic institutions slowly transform themselves into silent sweatshops in which words cannot wait for thoughts, and first responses are promoted into best responses, and patience is a professional liability. As the frequency of expression grows, the force of expression diminishes: Digital expectations of alacrity and terseness confer the highest prestige upon the twittering cacophony of one-liners and promotional announcements. It was always the case that all things must pass, but this is ridiculous.

And I thought that reading a ponderous translation of Immanuel Kant in high schoolwas a tough row to hoe.

It gets worse as it goes on. ……… and on. ……… and on. ……… and on. ……… and on.

I think that if translated to Frankenstein-speak, it translates to, “Paper publications good!  Internet Bad!”, but I can only give a confidence that I actually understood that bit of purple prose with about 27.3%.

Why anyone ever bought a copy of The New Republic in the past 40 years is beyond me.

Seriously.  If this weren’t Leon Wieseltier, I would think that this was a parody of academic writing.

H/T Atrios