I might be late to the party, but if I don’t chime in on this post, and the subsequent flame war between Howard Junker of Zyzzyva and Ted Genoways of VQR, what kind of blogger would I be?

The Summary: VQR’s blog–via web developer Waldo Jaquith, not editor Ted–posts an unattributed list of comments from their submission readers that are “laugh out loud” funny, ripping on some of the more “terrible” work they receive. Some of the blog’s readers, whose own submissions might be at the brunt end of the jokes for all they know, take offense. Genoways apologizes, and the list is redacted. Howard Junker is appalled. Outrage and hilarity ensue.

My Thoughts: Being a veteran of online communities (who isn’t these days), it’s always somewhat embarrassing to see professionals fall into the same interactive pits as teenagers arguing about Lost. Crane-your-kneck-at-the-train-wreck embarrassing, of course, and the subsequent echo-chamber of responding bloggings, of which this is one, certainly qualifies as a curiosity delay–but embarrassing nonetheless. (Though I have to say, not as soul-tickling as a millionaire’s agent ending an exchange with a columnist, saying, “So’s your Mom.”)

Before I say anything else, a little disclosure: I’m a huge fan of VQR, and a more mild fan of Zyzzyva. The former is just an amazing publication–entertaining and enlightening, skillfully crafted, thoughtfully composed. They seem to win the Whatever-It-Is magazine award every year, and I think they deserve it. While the latter isn’t the same kind of literary cornucopia, I’ve always really respected the intimacy and dedication of Howard Junker. I’ve tried to model my editing style, to some extent, after both of them. I see VQR as the corporate but tasteful elite–a kind of Ben & Jerry’s empire that proves you can be both institutionalized and environmentally friendly. (Does that make the Poetry Foundation, then, Monsanto?) Zyzzyva, on the other hand, embodies grassroots independence and passion.

In other words, I respect them both, and hope they can move past this and play nice.

That said, VQR’s initial post has demonstrated a serious lack of foresight, and perhaps has exposed briefly the seedy underbelly of the literary establishment. That VQR’s editors allow this kind of animosity toward submissions to build up in their readers confirms some of the worst stereotypes that we at Rattle have been trying to argue against. When we receive nasty responses to rejections, those people seem to assume that editors are flippant and derogatory, and that we don’t treat submissions with respect. I always assume sour grapes, but situations like these provide hard evidence that those accusations might be right. For what it’s worth, on our end we don’t have a team of readers, “brutal” or no–we have three editors, who each enter at different levels of the food chain. We don’t enjoy rejecting the best work or the worst work–rejections always make us feel bad, though sometimes for different reasons.

VQR’s public airing of venomous laundry was a bad idea; they should have known better, and I hope it doesn’t represent their overall attitude toward their potential writers. But once they realized their mistake, Genoways handled the retraction with grace and good sense, and life goes on.

But then Howard Junker calls out VQR and gets schooled in the process. Although his original indignation may have been on-target, his subsequent (and past) criticism of the magazine itself comes across as anachronistic, jealous, and petty. His view that lit mags should be like an old-fashion museum, “carefully curated, a rarefied atmosphere, a preserve for the elite,” might be the most concise explanation I’ve ever heard for why not a lot of people read literature anymore. Our goal should be dust and low lighting? No wonder we all have to rely on subsidies…

When Genoways returns for a second post and more of a beating, his victory becomes somewhat phyrric, and I start to feel sorry for Junker. Both of them mean well, they both have reason to be strong in their convictions, but somehow the interactions on the internet bring out the worst in us. It’s the devil’s music of the mind. It’s a three million ring circus. Communicating through a machine, we treat each other like machines. And so on. But I don’t have to go into that, there are enough books written about it. I just hope they can shake hands at the end of the bout. Ding ding.