Literary interlude

Christelow said: "I must tell you how I played golf with Manchip once. I thought I'd take the
opportunity of learning something of his favorite poet, so I said to him as he teed off: 'Tell me, Master, what sort of a poet is Gynander?' 'Oh,' he said in that deep voice of his, 'a very interesting poet indeed.' 'Yes,' I said, 'I should have thought he was. But,' I said, 'what sort of a poet is he?' 'Why,' said Manchip, chipping away with his iron, 'do you realise, Christelow, there are only six fragments of Gynander still extant?' 'Really, Master?' I said. 'But what sort of poet was he?' 'And,' he went on, cutting the turf about, 'there is one construction that appears no less than twice in each, which is seen nowhere else in Greek literature. Now, what do you think of that, hey?' 'Very interesting,' I said. 'But Master, what sort of a poet is Gynander?' 'Surprisingly careless about genders,' he said, getting himself on the green, and rolling off the other side. 'Yes,' said I, 'But what sort of a poet is he?' 'Ah,' he said as I bunkered myself, 'you mean the gush side of criticism...'"

—Robert Robinson, Landscape With Dead Dons, Penguin, 1956

Comments

[Michael Dempsey]

Academic self-importance, trivia obsession posing as scholarship, smarmy condescension -- alive in 1956, alive in 2015, apparently to remain alive until the sun burns out. And maybe even that event will not be enough to kill it off.

[Petey]

Ah. Autumn rituals. Just as we must play the Kurtis Blow song for 48 hours straight before the start of the NBA season, we must screen Schizopolis for 48 hours straight before the start of the new The Knick season...