Friday, June 3, 2011

Wanna be Starting Something.

Hilarious story, guys:  Nobel Prize-winning author V.S. Naipaul started some shit that decimates the Lars Von Trier Cannes-gate joke saga of yore and sealed his fate as a Nobel Prize-winning douche amongst writers.  In an interview with the London Evening Standard, Naipaul oh-so-helpfully pontificated on all the problems with women writers, and detailed the reasons they will forever be inferior to prose pounders with a Y chromosome. 

The 78-year old threw down detrimental (to him) insights that included (but were not limited to) the following gems:

""I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me." Asked to elaborate, he said this was due to their "sentimentality, the narrow view of the world"." [source]

Oh really?  Please tell me more...

""And inevitably for a woman, she is not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in her writing too." [source]

Master of a house?  Hmmm...what century is this?

""My publisher, who was so good as a taster and editor, when she became a writer, lo and behold it was all this feminine tosh. I don't mean this in any unkind way." [source]

Pause for effect.  Squint. Slow nod.  Bastard.

These, ladies and gentlemen, are the opinions of a man once described as "the greatest living writer of English prose."  I have absolutely no idea who knighted him with this title, but recommend they revoke it immediately.  Obviously, Naipaul is woefully illiterate.  Otherwise, he'd never make these claims.  It's such a shame that at 78-years old someone with a Nobel Prize in the field seems to, perhaps, have never read a book.  I've heard he's a horrible narcissist, but you'd think a narcissist might profess to have some knowledge of what he's talking about.  Or, you know, maybe the senility is setting in?   Hey V.S.:  I know at least a dozen female fiction writers IRL who would be willing to throw down right now.  Myself included.  By the end of the contest, we'll see who's feeling like a sentimental, narrow buffoon.

Kathy Acker is rolling in her grave.

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