I make a lot of noise about that damn Ted Hughes and that sillyass Sylvia Plath, and then in comments Aaron White coolly deflates me:
Tom, this is like the third or forth time I’ve noticed you expressing a desire to hit someone for the crime of annoying you. Just pointing it out…
Yeah, well … okay. Yeah, I do that. And there’ll be more to come. A guy’s got to do something and I don’t want any situations where I might get hurt. So there’ll be more imaginary violence.
In my defense I can point to a man far more clever than me who also wanted to smash. Mark Twain once said he could never properly criticize Jane Austen. Why not? Because he kept being distracted:
Everytime I read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.
Yes. I’ve known so many smart people who love books and love Jane Austen, and so many decent writers who look up to her, and she is so dreadful, such a ninny-prinny, self-serving, shallow travesty of what a decent social observer should be. She has the greatest subject on earth, that of people talking to each other, and all she can do is remind herself over and over of how silly they are. That’s some sense of humor! Well, Jane Austen, you’re silly, okay?