Dr. Stanley Fish finds himself the target in a pissing gallery. In the minds of most, he brought it on himself with his conscientiously fair-minded observational essay at NYT.com about Sarah Palin's recently published Going Rogue. His commentary didn't laud or defend the ghost-written autobiography, but instead defended her right to publish whatever she wanted to, and call it her autobiography, as distinguished from a more proper biography, which might be subject to more rigorous standards of truthiness. And he also tried to make some sense about why Ms. Palin is an object of fascination - and more - for a significant swath of the voting public. He didn't defend her personally or politically, or champion anything she "writes," but simply defended her right to do so, and makes note of the fact that there seems to be a sizeable audience that is willing to pay to read it. Sounds as American as Adam Smith.
But of course that makes him a dunderhead in the eyes of the bulk of the New York Times readers who responded to what they imagined they had read in predictably snide and emotional ways. So Dr. Fish responded.
Larned Jetmore had the pleasure of reading Dr. Fish's response immediately after it was posted online, and thus was able to see the response-section equivalent of an untrodden field of snow; a blank white space as far as the eye could see. Larned's first reaction was disbelief, but he also recognized a rare opportunity to make the poignant equivalent of a snow-angel in the virgin expanse. To wit:
As i appear to be the first one to comment on Dr. Fish's eloquent and apt rebuttal to his many critics, I can only say this. It is a great relief not to have to wade through endless examples of how civil discourse is sabotaged in these interactive venues by what can only be described as the warped and circular thinking that results from poor reading comprehension. The silence is heavenly. Sorry I broke it.
Of course, by the time the editors got around to reviewing the responses to Dr. Fish's rebuttal, their inbox was overflowing with hundreds of missives even more condescending and nasty than the first time around, and duly printed them all. To which our correspondent could only sigh and mutter, "Ah, me. Why do I even bother."
