Suspicious Minds

As it happens, I share Rolstoy’s suspicion of a brand of contemporary criticism that relies upon a pounding negativity and cynicism to find its position—or what he refers to as “transactionally invested in negation as its marketable and meme-able currency.” But sometimes if one feels a book is poorly written, or an argument poorly made, it’s worth just saying so, and explaining why you think that’s the case. Anything else is public relations. As for the far more serious and consequential charge, I’m happy for any reader to read my piece and judge for themselves the degree to which they think I am guilty of antisemitism. I don’t regard joy as “schtick,” nor do I think the author is indulging in a “bit” for effect. Indeed, my review repeatedly notes how what I refer to as the author’s “heartfelt identification” in “joyspace” surpasses either the available evidence for its existence, or the actual joyfulness of the few examples he does provide. Alas, writers don’t write their own headlines, but regardless I don’t think the review “leans in” to any antisemitic characterization of Rolstoy’s book as an unserious performance.