persecution and the art of klosterman.

Over copious amounts of booze and food last night, I had a discussion with one of my professors and some fellow grad students about the state of our discipline. This is a topic we all love to discuss. And we do it ad nauseam, because we all predictably think that our discipline is underrepresented, under-appreciated and, at the extreme, persecuted. I assume this phenomenon is not restricted to my discipline--I'm willing to bet most PhD students feel like their specialty is under-appreciated, regardless of their area of study. That's probably just what happens when you devote yourself to some highly specialized body of knowledge.

Anyway, the conversation turned to the intersection between literature and politics--particularly the politics of Richard Russo's novels, which I happen to love. Some participants in the conversation were not convinced that novels were the most effective way to address questions of political theory. The academy, they suggested, was the most effective place to raise these questions. My very insightful addition to the conversation was that there is (and this is an exact quote): "more than one way to skin a cat."

This morning, as I was reliving the nights events, trying to remember whether I had embarrassed myself, I realized that had I been drunker (and let's all be thankful that I wasn't) I would have followed this statement with an elaborate exposition of my love for Chuck Klosterman, whose book, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, I've been reading in my (technically non-existent) spare time. Chuck, I firmly believe, is the poor man's Tocqueville (the rich man's Tocqueville being, of course, David Brooks). Klosterman's book, which is aptly titled, has fascinating things to say about a myriad of otherwise under-analyzed subjects--things like cereal, porn, John Cusack films and Guns n' Roses cover bands--which I'm convinced a lower-middle class latter day Tocqueville would have adored. If only I was as funny as Klosterman, I might actually have a chance of making a living thinking about this stuff too.

My favorite part of the book so far is a series of 23 questions that Klosterman insists he has to ask anyone before he can figure out whether he can love them. I've tested out a few of these questions already, and no one has given me a truly satisfactory answer yet. Here are two of my favorite, for your careful rumination and enjoyment:

9. A novel titled Interior Mirror is released to mammoth commercial success (despite middling reviews). However, a curious social trend emerges: Though no one can prove a direct scientific link, it appears that almost 30 percent of the people who read this book immediately become homosexual. Many of these new found homosexuals credit the book for helping them reach this conclusion about their orientation, despite the fact that Interior Mirror is ostensibly a crime novel with no homoerotic content (and was written by a straight man). Would this phenomenon increase (or decrease) the likelihood of you reading this book?

17. You are sitting in an empty bar (in a town you’ve never before visited), drinking Bacardi with a soft-spoken acquaintance you barely know. After an hour, a third individual walks into the tavern and sits by himself, and you ask your acquaintance who the new man is. “Be careful of that guy,” you are told. “He is a man with a past.” A few minutes later, a fourth person enters the bar; he also sits alone. You ask your acquaintance who this new individual is. “Be careful of that guy, too,” he says. “He is a man with no past.” Which of these two people do you trust less?

dead white men.

In the midst of a discussion about Tocqueville and colonialism:

Me: I'm worried that I'm just turning into an apologist for everything dead white men have done. I'm pretty much just a dead white man.

White Male Friend: Except for the dead part, I'm really OK with that.