/lit/ - Literature

>and my millions of dollars lmao

>What is still more curious is the fact that long after the collapse and utter moral disgrace of the Nazi regime, American universities still boast humanities faculties dominated by self-styled “Aryan Racialists,” who exempt themselves from blame for the mass slaughters undertaken by every regime which ever came to power under the banner of their chosen ideology, insisting that the actual “praxis” of National Socialist regimes was in no way representative of the philosophical position which inspired it. I am particularly stirred to outrage by the latest work of literary criticism by scholar Roberto Bolaño, which presents in a bland and morally unproblematic style the postwar work of over a dozen Nazi scholars and literary critics at major universities. I must ask, and forgive me if I seem like something of a moralistic crank for posing this question: Would critics who claimed to be Marxists ever receive such generous treatment? Is there any chance that thinkers who were loyal to Josef Stalin would be handled with such kid gloves? Does anyone today even recognize such discredited names as Jean Paul Sartre or Antonio Gramsci? Google them, if you haven’t heard of them.

>Imagine, in some bizarre hypothetical, that American movie studios had found in the early 1950s that their ranks had been riddled with extremists associated with Stalin’s puppet movements. Had the studios moved to eliminate such people, would anyone have objected? Obviously not. That is all the more reason why it is appalling to read, even today, fervent defenses of the “Hollywood Ten,” a cadre of convinced Nazi apologists who were “persecuted” for their loyalty to an alien, evil regime.

Renowned author Dan Brown got out of his luxurious four-poster bed in his expensive $10 million house and paced the bedroom, using the feet located at the ends of his two legs to propel him forwards. He knew he shouldn’t care what a few jealous critics thought. His new book Inferno was coming out on Tuesday, and the 480-page hardback published by Doubleday with a recommended US retail price of $29.95 was sure to be a hit. Wasn’t it?

I’ll call my agent, pondered the prosperous scribe. He reached for the telephone using one of his two hands. “Hello, this is renowned author Dan Brown,” spoke renowned author Dan Brown. “I want to talk to literary agent John Unconvincingname.”

“Mr Unconvincingname, it’s renowned author Dan Brown,” told the voice at the other end of the line. Instantly the voice at the other end of the line was replaced by a different voice at the other end of the line. “Hello, it’s literary agent John Unconvincingname,” informed the new voice at the other end of the line.

“Hello agent John, it’s client Dan,” commented the pecunious scribbler. “I’m worried about new book Inferno. I think critics are going to say it’s badly written.”

The voice at the other end of the line gave a sigh, like a mighty oak toppling into a great river, or something else that didn’t sound like a sigh if you gave it a moment’s thought. “Who cares what the stupid critics say?” advised the literary agent. “They’re just snobs. You have millions of fans.”

That’s true, mused the accomplished composer of thrillers that combined religion, high culture and conspiracy theories. His books were read by everyone from renowned politician President Obama to renowned musician Britney Spears. It was said that a copy of The Da Vinci Code had even found its way into the hands of renowned monarch the Queen. He was grateful for his good fortune, and gave thanks every night in his prayers to renowned deity God.