Not All Idiot

How many times has Heidi Kohlenberg stabbed me in the back? How many atoms can you fit inside a jar? Few friends of mine have quite such a propensity for criticising me and my work. This is not to say that I am regretful: one needs to be reminded of one’s weaknesses, after all. But I wonder nevertheless why it is that Kohlenberg has taken it upon herself to lead the charge. Is it professional jealousy? Is it repressed sexual desire? It is mere fun?

Whichever it is, the evidence is not hard to find. Consider the following, from her review of Koira Jupczek’s Death Charts:

The real truth here is that Riecke, like so many male critics, compensates for the lack of drama in his life by supporting writers compensating for the lack of their drama in their lives by inventing it, in fantastical form, there upon the page…

And again, from the same review:

Which brings me to the question – is Georgy Riecke aware that Koira Jupczek is having a giggle or two at his expense? Is he brave enough to realise that his voracious appetite for death-inspired fiction is ultimately an act of cowardice; a hop, skip and a jump away from the harsh realities of, well, reality? Much as I would like to pull even more straw from the stomach of this rag-doll editor of mine, I must admit that he probably is well aware of Jupczek’s otherwise hidden intentions. He isn’t all idiot…

Aha! So a bead of affectionate sap seeps at last from the great oak of malice. I’m not ‘all idiot’, it transpires – which probably explains why Kohlenberg has been happy to work under my editorship for several years (what this suggests regarding the mental capacities of other editors is more than I dare to ask…)

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