I wouldn’t recommend talking about criticism too much.
Your audience will, most likely, frown and move on to more pleasurable pursuits, and before long, it’s you and three other people nobody likes sitting around the kitchen table, drinking and talking, until someone spills their gin out on the table, and then there will be no more gin, and you will hear your heart beating and hear everyone’s heart, hear the human noise you sit there making, not one of you moving, not even when the room goes dark.
Which is hardly surprising. It may well be true that people view criticism “as an extension of the artistic experience,” as Tom Spurgeon suggests. It’s probably fair to say, too, that “criticism” tends to be seen as being synonymous with “reviews,” and those, in turn, as a service rendered to the entertainment seeker—plot summary, some light background info, thumbs-up/thumbs-down recommendation, mission accomplished.
Consequently, the worst and most obnoxious thing a critic could possibly do is be a spoilsport, either by being ambivalent, or by revealing plot points people would rather find out themselves, or by suggesting their taste is superior to the taste of their readers. It’s no wonder critics aren’t terribly popular when, at best, they’re supposed to be glorified food tasters, efficient catalysts for a maximized entertainment and/or artistic experience, ideally with no delusions of being anything more than, at best, useful leeches.
If that’s your approach, then critics talking about criticism isn’t just the most tedious, pointless and presumptuous thing ever, but an outright affront to any and all true practitioners of the arts, to which criticism does not belong. And, you know, that’s a perfectly valid way of approaching criticism if all you’re looking for is someone to provide you with a service.
It’s also a pretty dumb way of approaching criticism.
First up, even if we’re just talking about “Criticism as a Revenue Source,” as Spurgeon does, then writing for people who view criticism in that vein is not a terribly smart thing to do. Sure, it’s good to be reliable and competent and realistic about the context of your work. But Pauline Kael—to stick with Spurgeon’s example—didn’t become Pauline Kael by writing criticism for people who wanted “more on Blade Runner.” Kael became Kael by writing criticism for people who might want to read Kael, even when most people reading her probably did want “more on Blade Runner.”
Second, criticism is an art like any other. And, contrary to popular opinion, it’s as independent as any other art, as well.
Broadly speaking, criticism is the art of thinking and talking about a subject; more narrowly defined, it’s the art of aesthetic interrogation—you don’t need literature, music, film, comics or cave paintings for either of that. An interesting rock will suffice. A tree will suffice. Sure, criticism needs a point of reference. But which of the arts doesn’t? Each work of art necessarily carries its own set of traditions, conventions and themes. Write a story about love, paint a picture of an apple, sing a song about the neighbors’ cat—or write a critical essay about the aesthetic quality of that big cloud formation up there.
Criticism frequently overlaps with the other arts, too. There’s a good deal of it in Romeo and Juliet, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, Watchmen and Yeezus—each a work of art on its own terms, and each very much part of a larger discourse of the arts, and of culture. Criticism can be as plain or as artful as you want it to be, it can stand on its own or be part of a larger work. Criticism is arguably more independent than the other arts, because it doesn’t require one particular form—it can adapt to any form you want it to.
As a critic, you’re not the servant of your subject matter, nor its master. You’re its interrogator. It’s your job to strike up an engaging conversation with it, and whether or not you accomplish this is the only way for you—or anyone—to measure your success.
Third, and most significantly, if criticism is the art of thinking and talking about a subject, it follows that the alternative to criticism is to not think and to not talk. Which means that criticism is not merely a job, but an inherent necessity of democracy and culture.
“Not only does democracy demand freedom of criticism and require critical impulses,” German philosopher Theodore Adorno writes.
“It is effectively defined by criticism. […] The system of checks and balances, the two-way control of executive, legislature and judiciary, says as much as: that any one of these powers may exercise criticism upon another and thereby limit the despotism to which each of them, without any critical element, gravitates.” (Translation by me.)
In a social and political sense, consequently, what’s left without criticism is power unchecked. In a cultural context, what’s left without criticism is a state of stagnation and complacency.
* * *
Adorno also points out that the frequent call to be “constructive” is a smoke screen invoked to divert and defuse criticism—to render it ineffectual.
Indeed, even when people mean well and just don’t know any better, the notion of “constructive criticism” misses the rather crucial fact that criticism itself is, inherently, a constructive endeavor, and to achieve its beneficial effects, it needs to be rigorous, thorough and clear in the appraisal of its subject matter.
So asking critics to be “constructive” is a little bit like asking firemen to bring marshmallows. What these people mean is, actually, that they don’t want you to criticize, because being criticized does not result in happy thoughts. But making happy thoughts a priority is utterly destructive, of course. Before long, we will all be munching marshmallows while houses are burning down, and eventually our teeth will fall out and we will die fat and lame-brained and homeless.
So, please, whatever you do, don’t try to be “constructive” with your criticism. That’s not your job. Leave it to the people whose work you’re criticizing to do their jobs. Your job is to criticize, and if you do it right, you’re already contributing something that’s culturally significant and healthy by definition. If somebody just needs happy thoughts, then there are pills for that.
“Those who talk about the positive the most,” Adorno says, “are in agreement with destructive power.” So: “constructive criticism”? Kill it with fire.
* * *
“I think it’s worth reconsidering,” Spurgeon concludes, “what we believe the specific value of criticism to be in the context of the media we have, and maybe not as we think it should be… or fool ourselves into thinking it was.” This is not necessarily the best sentence he’s written. If you replace “criticism” with “art” in that sentence, it sounds pretty goofy; if you don’t, it still does.
I get the sentiment. Spurgeon is talking about revenue streams, after all, and it’s good to be realistic about this stuff. Nobody in the arts has the god-given and inalienable right to be paid, and critics are no exception. If you want to be paid, you have to deal with whatever options there are in the market, maybe adjust your work accordingly, and find someone who agrees to give you money for your work. If that’s what Spurgeon is saying, I’m with him.
However, this doesn’t mean that the work which results from this sometimes less-than-ideal context gets a free pass. If you turn in bad work, it’s not made any better by the fact that you needed to in order to get paid.
It behooves us to keep scrutinizing criticism for what it is, rather than for its context—especially if the context happens to be less than ideal. There’s a responsibility to keep recognizing—and criticizing—poor work, including criticism, regardless of the circumstances it was produced in.
And I’d rather not reconsider that.
* * *
Critics aren’t writing in a vacuum, though. There are fans and creators, too, and I think it’s fair to say that they tend to be fond of criticism in so far as it confirms their own tastes and sensibilities. Which is fine, but sometimes seems to be having an unfortunate effect on the people writing the reviews.
Personally, if I ever complain about too much “negativity,” feel threatened by people who don’t start their sentences with “I think” or “In my opinion,” or peg somebody as a “hater” because I closely identify with some thing or other that’s not up to their critical standards, then please shoot me, chain my corpse to a heavy rock and dump it somewhere over the Mariana Trench. Maybe slit my wrists, too—just to make sure the sharks find me on my way down.
That’s just my opinion.
You see, as a critic, I accept your tastes in art, and they don’t bother me much, whatever they may be. But respect them? Respect, now that’s asking a lot. I’m sorry, but if you’re a huge fan of, say, Joss Whedon’s half-cooked juvenile nonsense, I don’t see a way for me to respect that. How could I possibly respect that? I don’t want to respect that. I hope you’re happy with your tastes, certainly, and secure in them, they being your tastes and all. But asking me to respect them, that seems like a bit of a stretch to me.
I could pretend that I do, of course, in the spirit of harmony—that’s a great point. But what good could possibly come from that, other than maybe you liking me a little bit better and you feeling a little bit more secure in your appreciation of art that I consider to be poisonous, phony and stupid? Not much good, I think, so I probably won’t be doing that. Not that I don’t want to be liked as much as the next guy, mind you, but I guess I’m dysfunctional enough to realize that being a critic and being liked are two things that don’t necessarily go well together and happily pick the former anyway.
Likewise, being a critic, it wouldn’t occur to me to ask for respect. I have no delusions about the fact that most people—including, unfortunately, the ones who practice it—don’t have a clue what criticism is. No matter how long you’ve been at it, no matter where you’ve been published, no matter what you get paid—respect? Pheeew. You gotta have a lotta nerve asking for that shit, if only because it’s not something that can be given just like that.
Respect isn’t something that can be extended at will. Rather, it’s something that grows over time, and that has to be earned through the quality of your work. Which is doubly hard as a critic, because, obviously, your work involves a truthful appraisal of other people’s work. You do the math. Of course, if you establish yourself as someone who does a lot of free PR and is very nice to a lot of people, then a lot of people are going to like you, in a professional kind of way, and I suppose that’s easy to confuse with respect.
Not that there’s anything wrong with liking comics, and being buddies with creators, and pushing and promoting the ones you’re excited about as much as you can—not at all. Fans, creators and PR people do that all the time, and more power to them. But that’s not criticism. Most of the so-called comics reviews out there are not criticism.
Critics whose work I respect are the ones who expose themselves by taking a stance, even when it’s unpopular; the ones who write fearlessly, with passion, knowledge and substance, in ways nobody else could write. If you keep making a lot of noise instead about what you deserve and why-does-so-and-so-not-respect-me, and boohoo, someone was talking about critics and they did not mention me, then I guess I might remember your name eventually, but not necessarily in the context of “respect.”
* * *
Ultimately, a piece of art that nobody ever thinks about or has a conversation about might as well not exist. So, by all means, be a critic. Criticism—harsh, honest, passionate criticism—is crucial. Where criticism does not occur, the arts are dead and people don’t think.
When rigorous and fearless and insolent criticism no longer exists as a political and cultural corrective and is replaced by people “just focusing on the positive” and “sharing what they like,” that’s when you need to worry.
Hey, still here? I’m afraid the booze is long gone, and we’ve switched to drinking from the bitter tears of young-adult-fiction fans instead. We, of the terminology thought police, you know. Can you take it?
(Apologies to Gordon Lish, who hopefully apologized to Raymond Carver.)
Step back; he is preparing to criticize.
You were doing so good until the very end :-(
Great stuff Marc. Usually an Adorno quote is a dealbreaker, but it slid through like it was covered in duck oil. Nice work.
Ayo, I felt the same way. I was down with the idea of criticism as an art-form and appreciated the reference to Adorno and the smoke-screen of the “constructive.”
Furthermore, I agree with Marc-Oliver that conditional, self-effacing language in criticism is redundant and even counter-productive for the critic – but critics who casually insult the tastes of others, who blast and dismiss Joss Whedon’s work (to use the example above) or some other popular work as self-evidently bad or a waste of time without making an effort to explain why they have come to that conclusion are not doing a very good job of being critics (even if it is just by way of example). I love a creative insult as much as the next guy, but that is the icing. I stay for the cake.
Respect isn’t refraining from being negative or always being positive. Respect is showing your thinking.
I agree that criticism is a form of literature. Alas this post is rather artless set of defense of criticism 101 cliches.
It’s also a dubious defense of snobbery (here called “lack of respect”). Such posturing needs top level intelligence, wit, self-awareness and persuasive skills to convince the reader one has the qualifications. Particularly with ridiculously broad generalizations such as “most people—including, unfortunately, the ones who practice it—don’t have a clue what criticism is” implying a dubious narrative of one’s own position above the “sheeple” majority.
If one is going to imply, inadvertently perhaps, one’s shit doesn’t stink, one must have that shit down.
Qualifiers as “in my opinion” are not just verbal tics meant to avoid being a “hater”. They can deal with the difference between speaking with authority and unearned superiority, particularly when it involves generalizations about the masses one is clearly not above. It signals a willingness to interrogate oneself, which can create an impression of integrity.
In this way “Hater” is a useful term of art pointing to criticism as an act of status anxiety rather than engagement of the work (for example inserting a bland Adorno quote as a means of boasting one has translated it oneself).
I will grant online discourse makes it harder to speak with authority and certainty. The assumption of an ongoing conversation is ideas will evolve or be revised, and authors are presumed to write in a more impulsive, casual rough draft manner. Thus a certain level of certainty and authority is more likely to be questioned.
This post, however, is a giant straw man being batted about for an intellectual superhero power fantasy. Melodramatic twaddle such as “When rigorous and fearless and insolent criticism no longer exists as a political and cultural corrective and is replaced by people “just focusing on the positive” and “sharing what they like,” that’s when you need to worry.” is itself the sort of rhetoric used to avoid criticism, except in this case the criticism being avoided is bad criticism which thinks it’s “rigorous, fearless and insolent” (which sounds like Ayn Rand describing herself while drunk).
I meant duck fat, of course. What a boner.
Saying that Marc put in the Adorno quote just to say he translated it is really incredibly uncharitable. It’s also kind of ridiculous. There are just lots of people who read multiple languages; it’s not a big deal. If you think it’s a big deal, that’s kind of your problem. But int his context, it makes you look like you’re sloshing around in the status anxiety you’re claiming to combat, and also like you’re engaging in some knee-jerk anti-intellectualism.
I also don’t think it’s wrong to point out that Joss Whedon isn’t necessarily awesome, nor do I think you have to go on to explain why you think that at length. Lots of folks lots of times refer to Whedon as wonderful without explaining why. You don’t necessarily need to say everything all at once in every post. I think I probably like Whedon more than Marc does, but so what? Sometimes there’s worth in just pointing out that a supposed consensus isn’t necessarily quite as much of a consensus as all that.
I’m surprised by all the Adorno hate. I mean I have no special love for the guy, but without his work we might very well be stuck with Kant and close reading. Anyway, I’ll weigh in by saying that this piece is deceptively astute, right up to the end. After all, the dismissal of Joss Whedon wasn’t presented as a critical insight but as an example of a more general tendency to demand respect for our ideas and opinions instead of justifying them. He attributes this to fans and critics alike.
Also, duck oil: http://treetools.co.nz/climbing1/accessories/karatol-duck-oil
I haven’t read much Adorno, but he seems pretty interesting. Also, cute picture.
I wasn’t asking that he necessarily specifically defend or critique Whedon or anyone in this piece – though I do think a pithy takedown can allude to the reasoning without resorting to the sense that it is self-evident what is terrible about it.
My point that his definition of “respect” seems either disingenuous or that he allows it be defined by people who have no concern with the value of criticism, as such their demand for that kind of respect(not that I’d call it that) is misguided.
I agree that many fans and some critics refer to Whedon (or whoever) as wonderful without explaining why. I think the former can be excused b/c they are just acting fannish (however, annoying such behavior may be at time) and the latter are not doing a good job either.
I have zero hate for Adorno proper. But by and large, when you meet a man who quotes Adorno, you have met somebody that will leave this world with neither friend nor lover to mourn his passing. I am pleased to see an exception to that rule in the corporeal form of Marc-Oliver Frisch.
I love me some Adorno and his oft-overlooked buddy, Max Horkheimer.
See…I think the privileging of fannish enthusiasm in that way is not really a good thing. The idea that enthusiasm is somehow more respectable or tolerable than skepticism; I don’t agree with that.
I think there can be instances were these issues are more fraught, depending on power relationships and what groups have been denigrated in the past. If someone got up and said, “all African-American literature is crap” for example, with no further explanation, I think people would be right to see that as needlessly provocative and ugly (to take an extreme example.) But that can happen with positive enthusiasm as well (if you gush unreflectively about loving “The Clansmen” — or for that matter “Gone With the Wind” — I think folks have a right to get pissed.)
I liked/enjoyed this, but your claims about the necessity of criticism are absurdly overblown. You start out with
“Broadly speaking, criticism is the art of thinking and talking about a subject; more narrowly defined, it’s the art of aesthetic interrogation”,
which is fair. But then we learn that
“the alternative to criticism is to not think and to not talk. Which means that criticism is not merely a job, but an inherent necessity of democracy and culture”
and
“When rigorous and fearless and insolent criticism no longer exists as a political and cultural corrective and is replaced by people “just focusing on the positive” and “sharing what they like,” that’s when you need to worry.”
which is bollocks. “Broadly speaking”, it’s true that without reason we’re in serious trouble; but it’s obviously untrue — or, perhaps I should say, very, very contentious and unsupported by anything here — when we consider criticism in the relevant sense, viz. “the art of aesthetic interrogation”. The only reason these sentiments might sound plausible is equivocation between the broad and narrow sense of criticism. I’m fairly sure we could still build fire engines and avoid marshmallows even if Kant had never written A Prolegomena Towards Any Future Aesthetics of Interesting Rocks
Jones, I think the slippage you’re discussing may be a problem in part with the way criticism of criticism is phrased as well? At least, when people tell me they aren’t happy with my criticism, there’s often a kind of mixing together of the argument that criticism of art is worthless, and that negativity is itself bad.
I have to apologize to Mr. Adorno, too, actually. His name was “Theodor,” not “Theodore.”
Noah, you’re right that there’s an annoying ambiguity between criticism qua analysis and criticism qua negative analysis — the latter being, I think, the way “criticism” and its cognates are used in everyday language. (“A critic of the President” means somebody who’s specifically agin the prez, one way or the other…).
But that’s separate from the point I was making, which is directed specifically at Marc’s grand claims for the necessity of criticism.
Jones,
I’d argue that if we take the culture industry seriously, (that is, if we take seriously the notion that mass culture reflects the interests of the dominant classes or offers points of resistance or room to move within it) then criticism is indeed necessary. For both the Frankfurt and Birmingham schools an uncritical public was not a public as such, but a mass in service to the interests of capital. Basically, “aesthetic interrogation” becomes part of a larger, political project, hence its necessity.
@ Nate A
“I’m surprised by all the Adorno hate. I mean I have no special love for the guy, but without his work we might very well be stuck with Kant and close reading.”
Whatever the merits of Adorno, no we wouldn’t.
@Graham
I know… I was being hyperbolic. I should’ve included an emoticon.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re a huge fan of, say, Joss Whedon’s half-cooked juvenile nonsense, I don’t see a way for me to respect that. How could I possibly respect that? I don’t want to respect that.”
I’m trying to decide if this is purposefully challenging to get at the heart of criticism (invoking one to argue the merits and ‘tell me I’m wrong’), or reductive in a way that threatens the thrust of the piece.
In a piece discussing criticism, and arguing to appreciate those who dare to really dig in (regardless of response), it blows off the critical for the knee-jerk. It trumps source over critique or resonance.
It’s not about what someone appreciates, but why, and how cogently they can express that (and sometimes- inspire you to reevaluate).
One of my biggest irks today is our tendency to assume WHY someone likes something, and that if they like something universally panned, it must be for a stupid reason. It’s a tendency that shuts down critique, rather than bolstering it.
Monika hit the nail on the head.
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Monika wrote a great takedown of Whedon for us, if folks missed it.
I did miss it and that has been rectified.
I am a big fan of Buffy, but her criticism is thoughtful and convincing.
Yeah; I would say Buffy has some good bits and some really problematic bits. It sort of gets a lot of credit because it’s better than much of the competition on gender issues, but much of the competition is so bad it’s not clear how much of a compliment it really is to say Buffy is better.
“when you meet a man who quotes Adorno, you have met somebody that will leave this world with neither friend nor lover to mourn his passing”
On the other hand we, the men that argue about comics, are known as the popular, sexually active type. Good point.
Nate A. said:
“I’m surprised by all the Adorno hate. I mean I have no special love for the guy, but without his work we might very well be stuck with Kant and close reading.”
I’d be curious to know what you have against close reading, since in my view Adorno is far more problematic than Kant, with Adorno being responsible for a lot of sloppy, politically-predetermined readings.
As for the essay proper, the problem I see is not “is the critic constructive or destructive?’ The problem is one of the history of ideas. Does the critic have any clue as to what the thing critiqued means in terms of its underlying symbolism, its implicit propositions, and does the critic know how to respond to those accurately, rather than wanting them to be something else (a sin I found to great excess in Adorno’s work, as when he decided Donald Duck wasn’t as good as Betty Boop for some damn reason or other…)
http://arche-arc.blogspot.com/2010/02/that-darn-adorno-pt-2.html