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I Sing of Susan Sontag*

*brought to you with limited commercial interruption by the people at Amazon.com 

 

Consciousness harnessed to flesh. Sontag's all that.

Consciousness harnessed to flesh. Sontag’s all that.

Preamble

So what if her last name seems to have letters missing. Who cares if, in Camille Paglia’s words, her “cool exile” from feminism left the movement bereft. Susan Sontag’s incisive perspicacity and ability to effectively write down things she was thinking about, made her a celebrated cultural icon and a stentorian literary maven amongst the tight circle of bookish intellects she moved in. Never one to be confused with a dilettante, her body of work is an eminent standard by which modern literary criticism is judged. She may appeal to a select few and that’s probably why you’ve stopped reading by now. However, Ms. Sontag is abundantly worthy of exploration and it is my peculiar curiosity in her body…of work, that prompts this essay. In other words, how does someone get like this? Are they born this way or do they choose to be a non-practicing Jewish, left wing, bisexual, cultural barometer capable of devastating and discerning prose? We can explore this together or you could go back and reclick on the article “Home Schooled Student Expelled for Sleeping with his Teacher.” So what? Little Timmy was 6 years old and had a nightmare. Forgive him for crawling in bed with his mommy. Read the rest of this entry »