Earlier this year, veteran film critic David Denby published Snark, a hastily written polemic against those lonely pseudo-intellectuals who—instead of producing ideas of their own—prefer to mock, ridicule, or dismiss the work of others. Denby’s book diagnoses “snark” as a pathology, a writing style ideal for sex-deprived nerds who lack the courage to do anything but post anonymous insults online. Writers who rely on snark, Denby argues, hope to appear clever, cynical, and cool, but they’re little more than timid imposters who make fun of others in order to conceal their own creative inadequacies. Snarky writers have little to say, so they ridicule more serious authors and pretend to be too jaded to take part in meaningful discussion. This, quite frankly, is the essence of Denby’s critique.
Denby’s book is not exactly a masterpiece of polemic, but it’s noteworthy for at least one reason. It represents one of the first systematic attacks on the hordes of pseudo-authors who specialize in trying to pack as many insults as possible into 200-word gossip articles.
Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, perhaps—Denby’s book has been mocked, ridiculed, and dismissed by much of the intellectual establishment. In an attempt to appear trendy (and stave off financial implosion), several of the old guard publications have made it their business to announce—subtly, of course—that snarky writing is cool, edgy, and relevant. Last month, in an unusually fashionable move, the New York Times derided Denby as a “neo-Victorian” and insinuated that he’s just a geezer who’s scared of becoming the victim of a snark attack. Commentary magazine—which might have been expected to sympathize with the aging Denby—was equally dismissive. Laughing at Denby is in season—perhaps even the Wall Street Journal will muster enough energy to publish a snide critique of Denby’s book.
Among Denby’s many detractors, New York Magazine’s Adam Sternbergh actually managed to distinguish himself. Sternbergh used the opportunity given to him by Denby’s book to make an argument for the usefulness of snark. Sternbergh’s argument, which bears the stamp of self-delusion, is not new. Snark, Sternbergh claims, is a natural response to the bland doublespeak and neutered discourse that characterize mainstream politics. Internet writers have become snide and snarky, in other words, because they’ve been disillusioned by the dull and impotent language of the public sphere. It follows, according to Sternbergh, that snark has the potential to reinvigorate public discourse by injecting it with a healthy dose of irony and sarcasm. Sternbergh seems to believe that vitriolic blog posts—which almost always betray the infantile desire to hurt others’ feelings—are the “antidote” to the blandness of the mainstream media.
College students who insult people in online articles are going to revitalize our political discourse? Bwog and IvyGate are going to rescue America from the tedium of mainstream journalism? How many sweet, democratic-sounding lies need to be poured into one’s ear before one can begin to believe this nonsense?
Like all creation myths, Sternbergh’s account of the rise of snark is a disingenuous attempt to conceal a shameful truth. Snark is not the response of “the masses” to the inane doublespeak of politicians. It’s a defense mechanism for writers who, having nothing to say, are absolutely terrified of being criticized or derided. Snarky writing reflects a primal fear—the fear of being laughed at. Snarky writers don’t want to be mocked, so they strike first by mocking everyone in sight. Snickering at others’ ideas is the simplest way to protect oneself against criticism, for it’s hard to seriously criticize a writer who does nothing but hurl insults. Snarky journalism appeals to those who were teased in grade school and don’t ever want to be made fun of again. One might say, in fact, that snarky writing is a wish-fulfillment for compulsive masturbators.
What’s more interesting, perhaps, is that the giants of the journalistic establishment seem reluctant to dismiss snark. One might have expected old guard outlets like the New York Times to defend Denby, but they did the opposite—they tried to make a fool out of him. There’s something comical about the fact that the Times—whose approach to journalism accords with Denby’s—found it necessary to publicly distance itself from Denby’s rearguard attack on snark. Is the Times worried that it’ll appear outdated unless it embraces sly put-downs, snide remarks, and all the other tactics used by the resentful?
It’s almost funny. The very publications that might have been expected to defend Denby instead made the strategic decision to snark him. In the case of the
Times, one almost wonders whether the paper is attempting to forestall its decline by pandering to the very people who, if given the chance, would gladly bury it beneath a mound of semi-clever insults.