The Impossibility of Satire
This piece originally appeared at Intuition: http://www.intuition-online.co.uk/article.php?id=1018. I am reposting it here because the links did not make it into the final edit properly.
When I was asked to write satire for Intuition’s January edition, I thought back to my undergraduate years and reading Aristophanes, Terence and Menander—classical satirists, in case anyone needs a primer—and wondered what on earth they would write about in this day and age. I often find myself reading the news in the morning, thinking of the three of them, throwing their hands in the air and saying “Gods! It can’t get any more ridiculously surreal than this!”
My brother, a visual artist, brought up exactly this topic after reading my first piece on Intuition. The example he chose: former (quitter) Alaska governor Sarah Palin becoming a talking-head on Rupert Murdoch’s precious flower, FOX News. He noted that during her inaugural appearance—let us please pray that this is the only context we ever hear “inaugural” associated with her name—fellow talking-head Glenn Beck asked if he could read something to her that he wrote in his journal the night before which included the words “tomorrow I meet Sarah Palin. I am a little nervous. I know she is the right person to lead our country out of the mess we are in but I wonder if God has given her the strength.” He said this with a plainly frightened look on his face. This comes right after watching a video clip in which Pat Robertson told faithful followers that the recent devastating earthquake in Haiti was to be attributed to a pact with the devil struck 200 years ago.
How would Aristophanes write about this this now? Well, for a clue, I looked to the the clip of Tina Faye spoofing then governor and vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin in an interview with Katie Couric during the 2008 U.S. elections. Faye’s performance was a perfect example of modern satire carried off in a classical style. It is so much more subtle, though, and doesn’t need for characters to be caricatures of their intended victims because said victims are already caricatures unto themselves. It would appear that imitation is no longer the sincerest form of flattery, it is just a form of satirical insult. Another great example: the episode of South Park titled “Trapped in the Closet” in during which the core beliefs of the Church of Scientology are explicated while a notice flashes at the bottom of the screen that “THIS IS WHAT SCIENTOLOGISTS ACTUALLY BELIEVE.”
Not intending harp on Palin, but the only thing simpler than this form of satire are those gorgeous occasions where an individual can participate directly in their own satirizing, as she did in the lsat presidential election cycle during a prank call from a radio show. We only have to look to the “W” years of the American presidency or to the humorous treasure-trove of North Korean news propaganda. All of these people have either made themselves or been made into caricatures. They need only to be mocked.
So why bother?
Well, it turns out that a lot of people the world over don’t have a sense of humour. It would appear that they simply do not understand how to look at the world around them in such a way that they could find it funny. They see the world as a serious place filled with serious people to be taken seriously. They don’t want to hear any snickering in the back rows. They are also very, very boring (see the above reference to Glenn Beck’s interview with ex-governor Palin).
All of that said, I shall propose a methodology for writing satire so that you too, humble reader, can flex your creative muscles and slag off the idiots that surround you by lobbing insults above their pathetically stupid heads.
First, read a book. Strike that, read a lot of books. To write well you have to be able to read, and be well read. Sci-fi works best because it hits that weird dystopian spot that only it can, but Mark Twain, H. L. Mencken, Oscar Wilde: these will also work. If you want your writing to be really smart, read some philosophy as well, and of course The Classics, so you can be a snob. Reading Ulysses—that’s James Joyce, by the way—will give you the biggest boost in terms of snob-rating. Or you can just do what everyone else does and buy a used copy and the Cliff’s notes (remember those from before the internet?) and just tell everyone that you have read it. That is way easier.
Second, develop a superior attitude. It helps a great deal to feel superior to all of those idiots you are writing about. Reading Mencken and Oscar Wilde, as mentioned above, will help with this. Also see above regarding Ulysses.
Third, have a pint. On second thought, have two or five pints, or maybe several whiskies; preferably while reading the news online or (GASP!) a newspaper (I realize that this is an online publication. Give a brother a break). This will help you to see just what maddening depths to which the world around you is sinking. N.B.: the number of pints you hit the bottom of is proportional to the depth to which the world has sunken.
Now you’re ready. Pick a topic and let fly. Anything can happen. You might be reading an article on how some idiot doctor wants to petition to have butter banned as a toxic substance, and write a story in which some animals have revolted against their farmer oppressors and is now poisoning the rest of their human oppressors by putting saturated fat into the butter and melamine into the milk. You’re on a roll! A few hours later you might wake up on the floor of your flat and shout “Eureka!” and begin writing a dystopian tale of the future in which washed up politicos no longer have fade away but can become internationally famous news pundits and yap all the garbage commentary they like about things they know nothing about! That is almost certain to never happen. What absurdity.
Aristophanes, Menander, and that other guy are dead, but that doesn’t mean that their art has to be. Their world was completely ABSURD too. Once a year, people gathered, got trashed and had a public orgy while the rest of the town looked on from box seats. Men only married to perform their social duties and then buggered off with their youthful compatriots. Some of those men went around town asking questions until everyone decided that it would be best for society if they drank poison. They had good material to work with, and so do we. So, let’s get to it.
As I wrote that last line, I heard a BBC announcer mention that butter should possibly be banned as a toxic substance, given that we have so many healthier substitutes.
I rest my case.
