London, GB | Formerly of New York, Buenos Aires, Fife, and the Western Cape. | Saoránach d’Éirinn.

Rumblings in Beckistan

First, I noticed that Herr Beck labelled your humble & obedient scribe as “my impossibly bizarre former colleague” and a “living anachronism”. The context was largely complementary, as Beck expressed his certainty that I could enlighten him further upon the subject of Ember days (which of course I can, but won’t). But then I noticed a more subtle — and yet simultaneously all-too-blatant — anti-Cusackian dig in his piece on Ted Gioia’s The Birth (and Death) of the Cool in B&N Review:

Cool is all about authenticity. Authentic is whatever most people aren’t, since most people are shaped and controlled by peer pressure and marketing. Thus, the quickest and surest route to authenticity is contrarianism, preferably by way of blasé eccentricity. You know the type: “Yeah, I’ve pretty much always been into skiffle / Symbolist poetry / Dario Argento / raw foodism / ceremonial maces / taxidermy / bisexuality—haven’t you?”

Ceremonial maces?!? While six of those seven terms are undoubtedly aimed at other individuals, there is no way that this mention of one of my particular areas of expertise can be construed as anything other than a mischievous and deliberate anti-Cusackian provocation by the forces of Beck. I questioned the son of Granby seeking the meaning behind such an act, but in his inimitably mysterious fashion he emitted a soft, false laugh and faded back into the folds of the evening mist.

The real reason for Beck’s act of aggression is simple: he’s envious of my having been published in the Quarterly Journal of the Guild of Mace-bearers of England & Wales. He’s likely further miffed that I attended the university with the finest collection of medieval maces in the world, while he was stuck sacrificing holly-crowned virgins to Wotan in the wilds of New Hampshire. There you have it: mace-envy, the latest vice of today’s jaded youth.

Those of you unfamiliar with Stefan Beck’s work are all the poorer for it. Just the other day I was speaking with the ever-delightful Allison Burbage, who was searching for unfamiliar books to read. I directed her to Stefan Beck’s demi-annual Fiction Chronicle in the pages of The New Criterion to steer her in the right direction. In the future Mr. Beck best watch his back — we members of what I like to call the ceremonial mace enthusiast community are skilled in the sophisticated art of retaliation.

Published at 9:01 pm on Monday 22 March 2010. Categories: Errant Thoughts Tags: .
Comments

“The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” Regrettably no one has ever accused me of being cool, authentic or otherwise. I would be happy for what I could only ever consider a compliment. Shallow me.

— Daniel McGlone 30 Mar 2010 9:05 am

I have a copy of the book on the history of the Dartmouth Review which, on its cover, is attributed to James Panero and Herr Beck. I am please to report that, when James signed a copy of the book for me, James added that Stefan “had nothing to do with this book.” So don’t worry about noise from that source.

— Steve M. 31 Mar 2010 11:27 am
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