|Writers I Admire But Dislike
||[Nov. 28th, 2013|12:09 pm]
So they've let C.S Lewis into the Abbey. Fair enough. I can see how he merits a place. I read a lot of his stuff back in the day and found him witty and entertaining and moreish. But he left a metallic taste in the mouth. However much I admired him I couldn't like him. This was the case even when we shared a theology.|
The list of writers I admire but dislike is long and various. It has nothing to do with lit crit and everything to do with personality. It doesn't have much to do with ideology either. I deplore Chesterton's Roman Catholic triumphalism but love the man. Ezra Pound was a bona fide fascist but that doesn't top me being fond of him. Aldous Huxley- on the other hand- even though we probably agree on almost everything- affects me much as Lewis does. I find him coarse.
Here are some other writers whose greatness I concede but wouldn't want to curl up with in the inglenook.
Ernest Hemingway; I admire his prose style no end, but what a brute!
Jane Austen: I've read everything once and once is enough. I find her chilly
D.H Lawrence: What an insufferable person- all that ranting and raving.
P.G. Wodehouse: A great original but I don't find him funny.
James Joyce: I think "The Dead" may be the greatest short story ever penned, but I can't be doing with its author. There's something cold and clammy about him.
Kingsley Amis: He leaves me feeling I need to go take a shower.
And so on. I could fill pages. Though I'd like to think the list of writers I love in spite of everything would be longer.