Here’s how a lot of male literary criticism works: When you denigrate my work, you question my intelligence, my ability to write, to think, to argue. You assume that you are my superior. In fact, when you criticize me in public, in print, even if your line of reasoning holds together, you insult me. And because you do this, I don’t like you. In fact, I’m going to do everything I can to ridicule your reasoning, to make you look stupid. To prove that I’m smarter than you are. Fuck you for insulting my work.
Testosterone, despite its concomitant invective and ad hominems, pushes those in its clutches to argue, fight, as well as they possibly can. And this, when luciferous, is often a good thing.
Edmond Caldwell’s site is not enlightening. Puzzling more like it. Filled with half truths. I still haven’t figured out quite why he has such a hate on for Wood. Surely, something more primal – or personal – than mere philosophical difference or antipathy toward authoritative pronouncement is at play here.