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Posted November 12, 2002
re: Mencken
Blurbcraft can ascend to the level of a high art, I am sure; but it usually wallows in the depths, providing nothing other than unintended comedy.
Case in point: George F. Will's encomium for the new Mencken biography. If ever there existed a media pundit whose good repute rests entirely upon the luck of having written long after Mencken wrote, he is it. What a windbag! What a solemn purveyor of inanity and buncombe! Imagine how Mencken would have written about Will's idiotic Statecraft as Soulcraft, and then wonder. Surely Will knows how Mencken would have treated him. How did Will ever dare mention Mencken? (Of course, the truth is probably as simple as a Republican: Will is surely a friend of the biography's author.)
Who now reads Mencken?
Will asks. Well, lots of people. Enough? Of course not. And why not? Because most people would judge Mencken's writing how Will does, as astonishing.
Not merely because it is so good (so much better than Will's, or mine, or yours), but also because Mencken dared think, as we say these days, outside the box,
but without cliches. In Mencken we have a writer who could not be contained by any simple label, which is why most readers, for comfort's sake, feel compelled to dismiss him.
Reading the reviews of the new biography, I've learned again just how sensitive most people remain to Mencken's method. (I wrote on this in a Laissez Faire Books column; if you are curious, click here.) Most reviewers have so eagerly swallowed the anti-individualism of collective identity and its props (politically correct
and oh-so-sensitive speech) that they have no idea how a person such as Mencken could have cultivated a vital demonology of stereotypes
while at the same time practicing judicious thought and action towards individuals.
I won't defend Mencken here, or explain what should be obvious. If you find some of Mencken's language offensive, then I suggest you read Mencken some more, think anew about the nature of generalizations and judgments, and then maybe you'll begin to understand. If not, that's OK. You are not required to enjoy every style or manner of thought.
But if you insist on yammering about Mencken's moral failings, remember that turnabout is fair play: those adult enough to comprehend Mencken's method may take that method and apply it against you. (Morality is all about reciprocity, I'm told!)
The reviews of the new biography, as I say, are many, and mostly silly. For every good observation there's a corker. One writer combines both extremes in one sentence: But unlike those great writers [Voltaire, G. B. Shaw, Dr. Johnson], who managed to build lasting monuments on the swamp-ground of punditry, Mencken wrote very little that survives.
I have to admire that phrase swamp-ground of punditry,
but not the judgment. George Will asks who reads Mencken now?
; I remind this reviewer that almost no-one reads Johnson, and unread monuments are not as important as read, living testaments. And as for surviving literature, the Prejudices contain some of Mencken's best writing, and if few read these essay collections today it is probably for the same reason that few today bother even opening the pages of Voltaire's Philosophical Dictionary: not for want of merit in the book, but want of merit in the readers.
Alas, the reviewers are not the only bad readers. The Economist's benighted reviewer made some good points before presenting the point of utter condemnation now required when writing about Mencken. But one reader, writing within the maelstrom of the emailstream, reacted to the review in as absurd a way as any paid critic:
[L]auding Nietzsche — now there's an invaluable service to Western civilization: without Nietzsche, we might have had to do without Schickelgruber and Derrida, and where would we be then?
Since Nietzsche loathed and castigated both anti-Semitism and German nationalism (he called himself a good European
), he should surely not be blamed for the rise of the Nazis. And as for Derrida, well, for all the convolution in his thought and prose, I'd rather be caught reading him than any newspaper reviewer I've subjected myself to this past week.
Now, it's true that Mencken's book on Nietzsche, though entertaining, tells more about Mencken's sympathies than with Nietzsche's philosophy. Still, the book is worth reading, as is Nietzsche's work. Nietzsche's contentions deserve to be confronted by all people curious about what it means to be human. His critique of Christianity and his explorations of morality still provoke thought — as well as hysterical denunciation. (The thought would have pleased Nietzsche; the hysteria would have solidified his darkest suspicions.) Mencken, for all that may be said against him, confronted Nietzsche as best he could, and did so honestly. As one of the first intelligent critics in America to convey Nietzsche's thought to the public, Mencken provided a great service.
But what are we to make of Mencken today? And who are his readers? Our email critic sums up one view of the great writer:
An argument could be made that undergoing a Mencken phase may be a good — even an unavoidable — experience for some adolescents. And an admiration for his technical skill is justifiable. (At least, those are my excuses for myself.)
This has it completely wrong. Unlike most other literary and social critics, Mencken stands up well as adult reading, long after his reputation has eclipsed. He cut through a great deal of bombast, while his competition suffers either from either childishness or unreadability.
As R.W. Bradford pointed out to me long ago, Mencken's basic literary method is to speak of the lofty in terms of the vulgar, and of the vulgar in terms of the lofty. This simple and habitual word preference provides a constant spark of wit to nearly every sentence of his work — enabling the prose to sparkle without descending into a stream of jokes, as contemporary humorists Dave Barry and P.J. O'Rourke must dredge up every other sentence.
Further, his essays — such as his classic on Thorstein Veblen — are marvels of economy and good sense; they are also very, very funny. But Mencken himself should have the last word on his prose:
The imbeciles who have printed acres of comment on my books have seldom noticed the chief character of my style. It is that I write almost scientific precision — that my meaning is never obscure. The ignorant have often complained that my vocabulary is beyond them, but that is simply because my ideas cover a wider range than theirs do. Once they have consulted the dictionary they always know exactly what I intend to say. I am as far as any writer can get from the muffled sonorities of, say, John Dewey. — Minority Report, p. 293 (final words)
And unlike Ayn Rand (who is surely the prime example of a writer who appeals most to bright people enmired in an Adolescent Phase), he does not embarrass well-read adults with dogmatism. He labeled his root convictions prejudices
and did not pretend that he had a System That Proved every one of his contentions.
Here we stumble upon the major reason why so few people read Mencken today. He is a writer for adults. It used to be that smart adults had grown-up tastes. Today, most adults prefer to ape their children. The cult of unending childhood dominates the airwaves and the newspapers. Who doesn't want to protect the children, even at the expense of infantilizing adults? Who doesn't want to become, again, as little children? Who doesn't embrace the logic in the Apostle Paul's excessive consideration for his weaker brethren, those who still must take milk instead of strong wine?
In such a culture, Mencken cannot be appreciated. He offends, again and again. While the pornography of his day can now be shown in prime time and printed in Reader's Digest, his criticisms still shock. The nature of adult
has changed.
Which is why some adult readers still read Mencken. It's not that we find his writings shocking. It's that, as we struggle to put away so much of our childish culture, we savor an adult mind. Mencken viewed the world through a grown-up's eyes. His readers try this, too.
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