Every stray glance at each new issue of The Believer leaves me in amazement over the way accepted literati deliberately narrow the appeal of their product, through their uninteresting pseudo-intellectual posings. These are individuals who've never left graduate school, are still writing to impress some invisible prof-- shutting out the rest of society in the process.
There's a nonsensical discussion in fact, in the latest issue, between two profs-- philosophy Phd'ers-- in which they practice like four-year-olds in a sandbox at theoretical naughtiness. "Ca-ca." Like Donadio in her essay, they believe they exist without context. Their vision never reaches beyond the sandbox. With much pompousness and patting themselves on the back, they point out how as "liberals" they disbelieve in notions of hierarchy.
Their words appear in a journal which has become the mouthpiece for lit-world elitism and hierarchy. (As shows its every style and pose.) The profs live in hierarchies, within musty academic temples; embedded in a sprawling gleaming industry of "learning" fed by big government and monopolistic corporations-- intertwined with them-- the two men having struggled for many years inside institutions to obtain their Phd certificates announcing them as high priests, with corresponding offices highly placed in the bureaucratic rectory attached to the cathedral; the bishop's house, where everything is ordered, regulated, and safe. Is that doctoral candidate new from the seminary? Let him be wary to approach! Have him do so with shuffled feet and bowed head.
No, they don't believe in hierarchy. Not them!