Defiled Curator

For this semester’s History of Journalism course, I am tasked with reading, synthesizing and compiling a reflective paper on each week’s historical topic. This time around, one of my texts was Benjamin Franklin’s Apology for Printers. I sat down a few days ago and began skimming the relatively short piece, only to become transfixed by what I read on the page. Not only was Franklin phenomenally erudite, but he was clever, self-depricating and sarcastic to boot. What was titled as an apology (which, during his time, was considered to be more of an explanation or defense than a simple “hey, sorry about that”) was clearly, to me at least, an exceptionally polite method of flipping off his audience, and he pulled it off flawlessly.

Ahh, those intellectual trolls, forever after my own snarky little heart.

As it turns out, our reflective papers are required to be objective and academic, not the subjective and personal mix of memory and analysis that I, and a good number of my classmates, assumed was required of us. Seeing as how communication broke down somewhere (more than likely on my end of things; occasional missteps are the price you pay for being a halfway decent multitasker), or student/professor expectations failed to intersect, we’ve all been given a do-over in order to meet course criteria. I was a bit too pleased with the results of my reflection to let this short, punchy essay (which treads familiar ground, for those noticing the bits of repetitiveness interspersed throughout) languish in some dusty, underutilized folder on my hard drive, so it will find a permanent resting place here on the site.

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An Apology for Printers

Reading Ben Franklin’s response to his public detractors struck an immediate chord within me, mostly due to my activities outside the University. I’ve written prose and have been included in a handful of themed anthologies over the years, but what I’m most known for are my essays, literary criticisms and the occasional freelance editing job.

In a way, it brings me comfort to know that Franklin dealt (and dealt well, in my opinion) with public sentiments that appear no different than those I see today, but on the other hand it also dismays me to realize that, seeing as how this has gone on for centuries, a nearly solipsistic worldview may be ingrained into a large number of people.

Several years ago, I found myself standing in a Barnes and Noble, staring at a book with the unusual title of Necrophilia Variations. I didn’t buy it at that point in time, but I visited its Amazon listing to see what responses the work had generated up until that point. There was only one review, a two-sentence, single-starred quip that came from someone who obviously hadn’t read it and more than likely had never even touched a copy with their own hands. “Necrophilia, really? If you enjoy this kind of thing, go kill yourself right now.” I found myself so irritated with this “my opinion über alles” tactic that I found myself responding just to tell them off. A year later, my critique (and interview of the author) found its way onto the Huffington Post, and I’m happy to say that both the author, Supervert, and I are alive and doing well.

Last year, I watched as a fellow critic was forced to stand his ground after giving a mostly favorable review to a book that, in my opinion, was a horrible piece of garbage. The author clearly did not revise her work at all before uploading her document file to Amazon (as an e-book), nor did she employ an editor or copyeditor. He praised the story, the character development, the wordplay… and then simply stated that it was poorly edited and could have used a good deal of polish before its release into the public wilds. The author emailed him, absolutely livid. “Besides if you want to throw crap at authors you should first ask their permission if they want it stuck up on the internet via e-mail. That debate is high among authors. Your [sic] the target not me! Now get this review off here!” Needless to say, the reviewer’s site became a flooded battleground of authors believing critics owed them something and the public who felt the author was out of line. I wrote an incredibly long essay detailing my opinion on it, as well.

It does seem to me that Franklin’s belief that no other profession receives the public scorn as the printer is still, three hundred-plus years later, scarily accurate. As technologies have advanced over time, the role of the printer has expanded to include, in many cases, the roles of writer and publisher, but the overwhelming demand to cave to the public (or, more specifically, each element that comprises the public individually, an impossible task to begin with) has remained constant. It never fails to shock and appall me when witnessing how a large number of people deal with personal offense – this disgusts me, therefore it’s an offense to humanity, and you are a horrible human being for saying what you just said.

Where is the personal freedom? Where is the responsibility of the individual? Apparently, I (and anyone else who sets pen to paper or fingers to keys) must first consider the delicate (and manipulative; don’t for a moment think I don’t know what you’re doing, you antagonistic little brat) sensibilities of every singular member of the public before we say anything, lest we find ourselves on the receiving end of a verbal flogging. These demanding members of the public, those who find their opinions equivalent to moral law, have no responsibilities. They do what they want in an attempt to control their environments, while those working with the printed word must first go to them with their proofs and hope they haven’t offended anyone to the point where their work must be kept from publication. Only in an imbecilic, childish mind would this ever even come close to approaching reality.

Until legitimate reality breaks down and all of humanity finds itself existing in some parallel, Bizarroverse dimension, writers and publishers will be attacked by overbearing, entitled members of the public. We will continue our merry fourth estate business, forever dodging rotten tomatoes and barbed words, and we will give our detractors more courtesy than they deserve, which is more than they ever give us.

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On a related note, I can’t even hear/read the words “Ben Franklin” without immediately thinking of two things:

Apparently, Jack Black’s got a massive crush on America’s founding badass.