A New York media lovefest is an impressive sight. I read Clive James' April 9 New Yorker article about international crime fiction last week, and now I come across Adam Kirsch's piece of secular hagiography. I don't know James' work, but Kirsch's praise for his alleged openness to low culture as well as high puzzled me after I read his New Yorker article. James twits Henry James' "turgid wordage", then spends three pages dealing faint praise to a few crime writers, only to conclude that Henry James is superior after all.
Fair play to Clive James; few would argue that Donna Leon and Raymond Chandler are better writers than Henry James. But Clive James' article looks to me like the work of a man who wants to have it both ways, to be petted for his willingness to thumb his nose at Henry James and go slumming with the crime writers, and also for his reassuring conclusion that Henry James is, in the end, more rewarding.