Monday, June 16, 2008
Negative Reviews
It's funny: I like the idea of William Logan a lot better than the actual execution.
I'd say I agree with the specifics of Logan's negativity at least three quarters of the time, and even when I don't agree, I don't find his opinions dishonest or careless. He's obviously capable of turning a smart, funny phrase. God knows he's a better prose review writer than he is a poet. Beyond that, I think there's very much a place for negative reviews in poetry (I've written them myself, in fact). So why do I not particularly like Logan's body of critical work? Here are a few ideas:
1. The relentless predictability. Logan will bash even the poets he's ostensibly praising, and he'll triple-bash his usual-suspect targets, so I don't go into a Logan review thinking "What did Logan think?" but "What didn't Logan like this time?" At some point you stop being a refreshing realist or even a cynic and just become a nihilist.
2. His limited vision of poetry. There's no question you can gain insight from his reviews, but it's of a small, conservative, old, major-press fragment of the poetry that's being written right now (and a truly tiny fragment of the good poetry). Logan and Ron Silliman are sort of separated-at-birth twins in this regard.
3. Making things personal. Not one of his reviews goes by without him making statements that could, with some modification, say something about the poetry at hand, but are instead ludicrously attached to the poet. (For one egregious example, read Brian Henry's mention of the nasty sexist overtones in his review of Mary Jo Salter.)
4. Ultimately, every William Logan review seems to be about William Logan. Every flashy insult shows off the Logan. Every poet gets pounded into a Logan-shaped hole.
I'd say I agree with the specifics of Logan's negativity at least three quarters of the time, and even when I don't agree, I don't find his opinions dishonest or careless. He's obviously capable of turning a smart, funny phrase. God knows he's a better prose review writer than he is a poet. Beyond that, I think there's very much a place for negative reviews in poetry (I've written them myself, in fact). So why do I not particularly like Logan's body of critical work? Here are a few ideas:
1. The relentless predictability. Logan will bash even the poets he's ostensibly praising, and he'll triple-bash his usual-suspect targets, so I don't go into a Logan review thinking "What did Logan think?" but "What didn't Logan like this time?" At some point you stop being a refreshing realist or even a cynic and just become a nihilist.
2. His limited vision of poetry. There's no question you can gain insight from his reviews, but it's of a small, conservative, old, major-press fragment of the poetry that's being written right now (and a truly tiny fragment of the good poetry). Logan and Ron Silliman are sort of separated-at-birth twins in this regard.
3. Making things personal. Not one of his reviews goes by without him making statements that could, with some modification, say something about the poetry at hand, but are instead ludicrously attached to the poet. (For one egregious example, read Brian Henry's mention of the nasty sexist overtones in his review of Mary Jo Salter.)
4. Ultimately, every William Logan review seems to be about William Logan. Every flashy insult shows off the Logan. Every poet gets pounded into a Logan-shaped hole.
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That Brian Henry article makes me want to write a sestina with Logan double-adjectives as the end words.
Logan seems to be running out of gas. The latest piece in the NEW CRITERION is rather dull, and re-slings some old mud at Jorie Graham. His best recent piece of work, in my opinion, was his NYT review on Walcott (last year?). There, deflecting attention away from the works' presumed icon status actually helped me read the poems more clearly. Logan tends to go after a poet's entire project, and so his strokes are broad. Unlike Jarrell who expanded the view of his subjects, Logan constricts. He's sometimes just plain WRONG, a blinkered reader with (seemingly) a lot of baggage. To suggest, for instance, that Louise Gluck stopped developing after her first book is simply being willfully obtuse. If Logan doesn't like your tone, he won't take you seriously. This limits his ability to listen.
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