Of Wagner’s operas, Mark Twain said, “Wagner’s music is better than it sounds.” That’s a lot like a disappointed lover saying, “No worries. The sex was better than it felt.”
Twain could shoot, and he was hard to hit. William Faulkner called Twain:
[a] hack writer who would not have been considered fourth rate in Europe, who tricked out a few of the old proven ‘sure fire’ literary skeletons with sufficient local color to intrigue the superficial and the lazy.
Faulkner falls a bit short of Twain in the critical barb business. I almost want to seek out a tricked out skeleton. Anyway, nothing in Faulkner’s criticism of Twain is as good as Twain’s remark about James Fenimore Cooper:
In one place in Deerslayer, and in the restricted space of two-thirds of a page, Cooper has scored 114 offences against literary art out of a possible 115. It breaks the record.
Martin Levin of the Globe and Mail has a piece about writers’ attacks on writers, “You Suck and So Does Your Writing.” Levin includes some fine examples, including this one:
Consider Tibor Fischer’s celebrated execution of a Martin Amis novel: “Yellow Dog isn’t bad as in not very good or slightly disappointing. It’s not-knowing-where-to-look bad. … It’s like your favourite uncle being caught in a school playground, masturbating.” The review gained Fischer more attention than his novels ever had.
Ouch. Then there’s this:
Virginia Woolf saw Somerset Maugham as “a grim figure; rat-eyed, dead-man-cheeked, unshaven; a criminal I should have said had I met him in a bus.”
Now, Ralph Kramden would say that’s just an ad hamana hamana hamana criticism. There are some good reasons to be afraid of Virginia Woolf; I’m not certain what I should have said had I met her in a bus. But Maugham’s writing is left unmolested by her. Still, her observation made me smile.
Unsurprisingly, Henry James was rather skilled at invective. Comparing Edgar Allan Poe with Charles Baudelaire, James found Poe to be the:
vastly the greater charlatan of the two, and the greater genius.
Now, who would you rather be, Poe or Baudelaire? Either way, you would probably prefer Henry’s brother William, who just seems easier to get along with. For instance, William once said:
A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.
Rearranging our prejudices can leave us feeling a little like the grumpy husband of habit who keeps bumping into the furniture after the room’s been redecorated. No matter. The well aimed barb is worth a skinned shin or two.
Gore Vidal and Truman Capote had a famous feud. Vidal, I think got the better of the match. When Capote died, Vidal said, “Good career move.”
Sometimes, the barbs drip with such bitter poison that they might slip right off the target. I think that’s true of Mary McCarthy’s comment about Lillian Hellman:
Every word she writes is a lie, including and and the.
Whether or not the definite article can be true or false, in this case the definite accusation of falsity got McCarthy sued for defamation, a suit dropped after Hellman died.
We need to provoke more of these literary wars. Without them, our literature would not be better than it is.

Terrific!
Hey, thanks Dan!
What fun! I loathed Faulkner’s writing. Tried to read one of his books and when I reached a point where one sentence was one and a half pages long, I quit.
I saw him often and went to college with his daughter and they were all weird. But I love Twain, thus the name. Witty and not pretentious.
I once got a taxi ride in New Hampshire from a kid who’d grown up next door to Stephen King and family. I think that’s exactly what he said about the Kings.
What was William Faulkner drinking when he tried to slag Samuel Clemens? Do you know where that quote came from? I thought Faulkner was an admirer of Clemens, as he also was quoted calling Clemens “the father of American literature” and “the first truly American writer, and all of us since are his heirs,” which is closer to the mark.
That said, “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses” is a masterful takedown.
I got it from the Globe and Mail Story, but it’s also in this WSJ story on the book, Poisoned Pens. Funny, though, in the first few google returns on the quote I didn’t find a specific citation. Hmmmm?
If a NH taxi driver thinks you’re wierd is that a bad thing?
My favorite Twain quote is “I’ll take heaven for the weather and hell for the company.”
Better wierd than Republican.
Anyone who hasn’t read the auld fella’s piece on Cooper should leave this blog immediately and do so. (The problems with the “Cooper Indians” makes me splutter every time.)And Glenn, how could you leave out Capote’s “That’s not writing, it’s typing” slag of Kerouac?
An unfortunate oversight on my part, the omission of Capote on Kerouac that is. It was a great one. I’m not alone in lacunaville, though. The word “omission” returns 17.3 million google hits, which points to a goodly number of ‘em, meaning, I guess, that we omit far more often than we mit.
Here’s a path straight to Mark Twain’s “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses.” Please come back when you are done rolling on the floor.
Apparently the book in question, “Poisoned Pens,” has a major omission in neglecting the acid pen of H.L. Mencken, whose heyday was from the end of World War I until World War II, but whose prose style was still ruining would-be imitators through the 1970s, when Hunter Thompson took over the job of corrupting our nation’s youthful journalists.
Most of Mencken’s work is online at but be careful as browsing there can swallow one for hours. See the First and Second Prejudices (1919 and 1921) for some classic takedowns. One must feel sorry for the author described as “The Heir of Mark Twain,” one Irvin Cobb, but Mencken also takes aim at Big Game of the time in “The Ulster Polonius,” which begins, “A GOOD half of the humor of the late Mark Twain consisted of admitting frankly the possession of vices and weaknesses that all of us have and few of us care to acknowledge. Practically all of the sagacity of George Bernard Shaw consists of bellowing vociferously what every one knows. …” You can find funnier lines elsewhere, but “The Ulster Polonius” holds up as a pretty good analysis of Shaw.