“So if I am, as Warren says, a racist and a bigot, editors in Canada, America and Britain (not to mention Israel, Australia, Spain and other places where these columns appeared) evidently didn’t have too big a problem with my racism and bigotry: these pieces were published in Canada’s biggest-selling news magazine, Canada’s national newspaper, Britain’s biggest-selling broadsheet newspaper, the world’s oldest continuously-published English-language magazine. These are not fringe publications….”
Steyn helpfully reprints the “offending” articles, to help illustrate Kinsella’s declining reading comprehension skills.
Obviously Kinsella’s borderline slander is prompted by jealousy. Steyn visits the White House and Buckingham Palace while Warren hunts for Nazis in boy’s washrooms. His books are international bestsellers, not just Canadian ones now largely remaindered or out of print entirely (the Canadian standard for a bestseller being a mere thousand copies sold).
Reduced to spewing misinformation, musing about imaginary love letters and threatening lawsuits that never materialise on his largely ignored blog, Kinsella’s only audience is the Robin to his Batman, Jason Cherniak, whose law degree smells oddly of Crackerjacks.
Kinsella thinks he’s Canada’s James Carville (and he is, in terms of temperament if not talent and influence), but at this point he’s more like the old guy with the funny voice who made local commercials about whale shaped cakes.
In an irony worthy of Dante (ok, an Inferno-inspired graphic novel maybe) a man whose main claim to fame was playing with a dinosaur on TV has become a fossil himself.
I try to ignore him. As the owner of a couple of mirrors, I already know I’m ugly and don’t need Kinsella’s constant reminders. Mostly I pity him. It’s so hard for men when their careers go poof, after all.
But this isn’t about me.
BTW: I’d rather be “groupie in chief” than “loser in residence”.