Because of Whitlock’s column, I had the misfortune of reading Charles Pierce‘s review of Bill Simmons’ new book. Here it is.
The piece perfectly sums up why I see Pierce’s name and always—without exception anymore—move on to the next story. Smug. Snide. Arrogant. Dismissive. As I said earlier, I have no problem with Whitlock ripping other writers, because he calls us out on legitimate issues. We might not always—ever—agree with his take, but it’s rarely under the I’m-a-better-writer-than-you-and-now-I’ll-prove-it-by-using-unnecessarily-large-words heading. Pierce’s review, on the other hand, can be broken down thusly:
A. Bill Simmons’ book has sold more in a week than all of mine have combined.
B. That makes me angry, because intelligent people surely realize I can use longer words than Bill Simmons.
C. There are too few intelligent people in the United States.
D. But, even if that’s the case, I hate this book because it’s dumb, and I’m smart.
E. Really, I’m smart. I am!
I haven’t read Simmons’ book, though I surely will. I like some of what he does, dislike some of what he does, love some of what he does. Factually, he’s an excellent writer, and a guy I respect.
Oy.
