Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect.
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the
word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In
our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
Hold the front page: IAve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy
my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellAs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusAs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerAs rejected pile, I suspect.
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those aWe hate the working classA marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant u and hence, I would >suggest, stupid. Trouble is the abadA people have been banished from >fiction: weAre lucky that Henry Miller, Coline, Genet and indeed that >gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The FnhrerAs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N%el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as aunconventionalA, which I think means that it
isnAt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >characterised by almost unconditional love on the FnhrerAs part, as well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >between hard truth and convenient lies u and wonder, with awe, at how we
so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itAs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnAt know adeep downA that Speer himself knew everything u
everything u about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerAs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerAs >absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that >werenAt simply unreliable, but were works of aradicalA (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >dullard colleagues. He just didnAt care and looked the other way. And we
all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerAs friend after his >release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected >candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >course, but it wouldnAt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengoAs story: the >propensity of perfectly decent people u the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasiusexual relationship with the
word aGazaA and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves u to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and >fictions. This has been noted even u I say even but, God help us, that >qualifier is entirely redundant u among academics, who while they might >recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyAre not ausefulA politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenAt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnAt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and youAll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge u regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In
our education system u and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public u the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itAs reactionary. The >facts donAt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not
only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle--
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a
Hold the front page: IAve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy
my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellAs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusAs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern
novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerAs rejected pile, I suspect.
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those aWe hate the working classA marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant u and hence, I would
suggest, stupid. Trouble is the abadA people have been banished from
fiction: weAre lucky that Henry Miller, Coline, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The FnhrerAs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N%el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as aunconventionalA, which I think means that it
isnAt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship
characterised by almost unconditional love on the FnhrerAs part, as well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies u and wonder, with awe, at how we
so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itAs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnAt know adeep downA that Speer himself knew everything u
everything u about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerAs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerAs
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenAt simply unreliable, but were works of aradicalA (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didnAt care and looked the other way. And we
all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerAs friend after his
release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the
pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldnAt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengoAs story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people u the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasiusexual relationship with the
word aGazaA and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves u to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even u I say even but, God help us, that
qualifier is entirely redundant u among academics, who while they might
recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyAre not ausefulA politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenAt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnAt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and youAll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge u regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In
our education system u and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public u the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itAs reactionary. The
facts donAt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not
only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canAt and you donAt - because othe facts donAt mattero
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
Hold the front page: I-Ave found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David Mitchell-As metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben Marcus-As engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity reader-As rejected pile, I suspect. >>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those -aWe hate the working class-A marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant -u and hence, I would >>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the -abad-A people have been banished from
fiction: we-Are lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrer-As
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as -aunconventional-A, which I think means that it
isn-At about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrer-As part, as well >>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies -u and wonder, with awe, at how we >>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, it-As almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didn-At know -adeep down-A that Speer himself knew everything -u
everything -u about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being Hitler-As closest confidante, how could he not? But Speer-As
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
weren-At simply unreliable, but were works of -aradical-A (as Orengo puts >>> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didn-At care and looked the other way. And we >>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became Speer-As friend after his
release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldn-At really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of Orengo-As story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people -u the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasi-usexual relationship with the
word -aGaza-A and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves -u to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even -u I say even but, God help us, that
qualifier is entirely redundant -u among academics, who while they might >>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because they-Are not -auseful-A politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who aren-At committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isn-At about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and you-All find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge -u regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>> our education system -u and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public -u the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, it-As reactionary. The >>> facts don-At matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You can-At and you don-At - because -othe facts don-At matter-o
land mines.
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
Hold the front page: I-Ave found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David Mitchell-As metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben Marcus-As engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity reader-As rejected pile, I suspect. >>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those -aWe hate the working class-A marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant -u and hence, I would >>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the -abad-A people have been banished from
fiction: we-Are lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrer-As
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as -aunconventional-A, which I think means that it
isn-At about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrer-As part, as well >>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies -u and wonder, with awe, at how we >>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, it-As almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didn-At know -adeep down-A that Speer himself knew everything -u
everything -u about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being Hitler-As closest confidante, how could he not? But Speer-As
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
weren-At simply unreliable, but were works of -aradical-A (as Orengo puts >>> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didn-At care and looked the other way. And we >>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became Speer-As friend after his
release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldn-At really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of Orengo-As story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people -u the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasi-usexual relationship with the
word -aGaza-A and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves -u to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even -u I say even but, God help us, that
qualifier is entirely redundant -u among academics, who while they might >>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because they-Are not -auseful-A politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who aren-At committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isn-At about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and you-All find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge -u regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>> our education system -u and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public -u the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, it-As reactionary. The >>> facts don-At matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You can-At and you don-At - because -othe facts don-At matter-o
land mines.
On May 14, 2026 at 10:08:41?AM EDT, "Noah Sombrero" <fedora@fea.st> wrote:
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a
Hold the front page: I?ve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David Mitchell?s metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben Marcus?s engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity reader?s rejected pile, I suspect. >>>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>> one of those ?We hate the working class? marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant ? and hence, I would >>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the ?bad? people have been banished from
fiction: we?re lucky that Henry Miller, Coline, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The Fnhrer?s
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N%el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as ?unconventional?, which I think means that it
isn?t about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the Fnhrer?s part, as well >>>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>> between hard truth and convenient lies ? and wonder, with awe, at how we >>>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, it?s almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>> we didn?t know ?deep down? that Speer himself knew everything ?
everything ? about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>> as being Hitler?s closest confidante, how could he not? But Speer?s
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
weren?t simply unreliable, but were works of ?radical? (as Orengo puts >>>> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>> dullard colleagues. He just didn?t care and looked the other way. And we >>>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became Speer?s friend after his >>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>> course, but it wouldn?t really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of Orengo?s story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people ? the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasi?sexual relationship with the
word ?Gaza? and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves ? to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even ? I say even but, God help us, that >>>> qualifier is entirely redundant ? among academics, who while they might >>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because they?re not ?useful? politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who aren?t committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isn?t about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and you?ll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>> to be gained by knowledge ? regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>> our education system ? and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>> the public ? the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, it?s reactionary. The >>>> facts don?t matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You can?t and you don?t - because ?the facts don?t matter?
conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
land mines.
ooooo yes master
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect. >>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would
suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from
fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it
isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship
characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well >> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we >> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo
everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts >> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we >> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his
release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the
pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the
word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe >> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that
qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might
recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In
our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of
the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The >> facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not
only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect. >>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would >>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well >>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we >>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo
everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we >>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the
word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe >>> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might >>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>> our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The >>> facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
land mines.
On Thu, 14 May 2026 14:24:10 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
On May 14, 2026 at 10:08:41?AM EDT, "Noah Sombrero" <fedora@fea.st> wrote: >>
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a
Hold the front page: I?ve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>>>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David Mitchell?s metafiction, the occasional blast from >>>>> Michel Houllebecq and Ben Marcus?s engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>>>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination. >>>>> Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity reader?s rejected pile, I suspect. >>>>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree >>>>> with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>>> one of those ?We hate the working class? marches they have in London >>>>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant ? and hence, I would >>>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the ?bad? people have been banished from >>>>> fiction: we?re lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>>>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrer?s
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as ?unconventional?, which I think means that it >>>>> isn?t about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrer?s part, as well >>>>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>>> between hard truth and convenient lies ? and wonder, with awe, at how we >>>>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, it?s almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>>> we didn?t know ?deep down? that Speer himself knew everything ?
everything ? about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>>> as being Hitler?s closest confidante, how could he not? But Speer?s
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that >>>>> weren?t simply unreliable, but were works of ?radical? (as Orengo puts >>>>> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>>> dullard colleagues. He just didn?t care and looked the other way. And we >>>>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the >>>>> good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became Speer?s friend after his >>>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich >>>>> (which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected >>>>> candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper. >>>>>
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>>> course, but it wouldn?t really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of Orengo?s story: the >>>>> propensity of perfectly decent people ? the kind of people who might >>>>> write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasi?sexual relationship with the >>>>> word ?Gaza? and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves ? to believe >>>>> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and >>>>> fictions. This has been noted even ? I say even but, God help us, that >>>>> qualifier is entirely redundant ? among academics, who while they might >>>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because they?re not ?useful? politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which >>>>> might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide >>>>> between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who aren?t committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isn?t about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and you?ll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>>> to be gained by knowledge ? regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>>> our education system ? and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>>> the public ? the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can >>>>> then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, it?s reactionary. The >>>>> facts don?t matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You can?t and you don?t - because ?the facts don?t matter?
conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
land mines.
ooooo yes master
Booom, splash, gluck.
On 5/14/2026 6:48 AM, Tara wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the
Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect. >>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on
one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would >>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy,
censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well >>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we >>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later,
we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo
everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well
as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to
escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging
dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we >>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all
yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group
of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the
deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of
course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything
at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the
word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe >>> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might >>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right
about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions
that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing
to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>> our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The >>> facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
That being said, there are only five regular informants, and a few--- Synchronet 3.22a-Linux NewsLink 1.2
lurkers, left on this forum, and only one full-time, so that's almost a
wrap.
Review the archives: there's only about five participants, for the past
five years on this forum.
It's not a total wrap yet. Where's Wilson?
On 5/14/2026 7:08 AM, Noah Sombrero wrote:
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a
Hold the front page: IAve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellAs metafiction, the occasional blast from
Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusAs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerAs rejected pile, I suspect. >>>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>> one of those aWe hate the working classA marches they have in London
every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant u and hence, I would >>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the abadA people have been banished from
fiction: weAre lucky that Henry Miller, Coline, Genet and indeed that
gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The FnhrerAs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N%el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as aunconventionalA, which I think means that it
isnAt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the FnhrerAs part, as well >>>> as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>> between hard truth and convenient lies u and wonder, with awe, at how we >>>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itAs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>> we didnAt know adeep downA that Speer himself knew everything u
everything u about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>> as being HitlerAs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerAs
absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenAt simply unreliable, but were works of aradicalA (as Orengo puts >>>> it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>> dullard colleagues. He just didnAt care and looked the other way. And we >>>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerAs friend after his >>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>> course, but it wouldnAt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengoAs story: the
propensity of perfectly decent people u the kind of people who might
write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasiusexual relationship with the
word aGazaA and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves u to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even u I say even but, God help us, that >>>> qualifier is entirely redundant u among academics, who while they might >>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyAre not ausefulA politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who arenAt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnAt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and youAll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>> to be gained by knowledge u regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>> our education system u and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>> the public u the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can
then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itAs reactionary. The >>>> facts donAt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canAt and you donAt - because othe facts donAt mattero
conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
land mines.
Some people are highly susceptible to suggestion. It's called >suggestibility. YMMV.
On Thu, 14 May 2026 10:11:57 -0700, Dude <punditster@gmail.com> wrote:
On 5/14/2026 7:08 AM, Noah Sombrero wrote:
On Thu, 14 May 2026 13:48:01 -0000 (UTC), Tara <tsm@fastmail.ca>Some people are highly susceptible to suggestion. It's called
wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:This is true. It does not mean that the person who said it is not a
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy
my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from >>>>> Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern
novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination. >>>>> Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect.
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree >>>>> with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>>> one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>>>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would >>>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>>>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>>>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>>>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship >>>>> between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>>> between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we
so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>>> we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo >>>>> everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the >>>>> minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>>> as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs >>>>> absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that >>>>> werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>>> dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we
all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the >>>>> good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich >>>>> (which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected >>>>> candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper. >>>>>
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>>> course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the >>>>> propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might >>>>> write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the >>>>> word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and >>>>> fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>>>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might >>>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically. >>>>>
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which >>>>> might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide >>>>> between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to >>>>> justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about >>>>> climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>>> to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>>> our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can >>>>> then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The
facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
conspiracy theorist. Tread carefully as you wade through the mud and
land mines.
suggestibility. YMMV.
It's called impressionable.
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28rC>PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote:
On 5/14/2026 6:48 AM, Tara wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from >>>> Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect. >>>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>> one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would >>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>> between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we >>>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>> we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo >>>> everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>> as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs >>>> absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>> dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we >>>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>> course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the >>>> propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might >>>> write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the >>>> word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe >>>> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might >>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>> to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>> our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can >>>> then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The >>>> facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else, you'll be oppressed." -Unknown
That being said, there are only five regular informants, and a few
lurkers, left on this forum, and only one full-time, so that's almost a
wrap.
Review the archives: there's only about five participants, for the past
five years on this forum.
It's not a total wrap yet. Where's Wilson?
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28rC>PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote:
On 5/14/2026 6:48 AM, Tara wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to occupy >>>> my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from >>>> Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, modern >>>> novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination.
Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I suspect. >>>>
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree
with each other about everything and are wondering if they should go on >>>> one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I would >>>> suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship
between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a relationship >>>> characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to demarcate >>>> between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at how we >>>> so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>> we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo >>>> everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the
minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>> as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs >>>> absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi who >>>> knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that
werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>> dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. And we >>>> all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the
good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich
(which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected
candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper.
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing to do >>>> would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it to the >>>> pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be true, of >>>> course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the >>>> propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might >>>> write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the >>>> word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe >>>> what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed opinions, >>>> rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and
fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they might >>>> recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically.
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping away on >>>> Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which
might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed further >>>> and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide
between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to
justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about
climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the espousal of >>>> a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is nothing >>>> to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent progress. In >>>> our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can >>>> then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs reactionary. The >>>> facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is not >>>> only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else, you'll be oppressed." -Unknown
--
That being said, there are only five regular informants, and a few
lurkers, left on this forum, and only one full-time, so that's almost a
wrap.
Review the archives: there's only about five participants, for the past
five years on this forum.
It's not a total wrap yet. Where's Wilson?
On 5/14/26 11:38 AM, Tara wrote:
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28rC>PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote: >>>>
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else, you'll be
oppressed." -Unknown
-a > free speech never leads to oppression
-a >
-a > #god
On 5/15/2026 11:36 PM, dart200 wrote:
On 5/14/26 11:38 AM, Tara wrote:
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28?PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote: >>>>>
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
You canAt and you donAt - because othe facts donAt mattero
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else, you'll be >>> oppressed." -Unknown
a > free speech never leads to oppression
a >
a > #god
Never is a very long time.
On 5/14/26 11:38 AM, Tara wrote:
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28rC>PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote:
On 5/14/2026 6:48 AM, Tara wrote:
Julian <julianlzb87@gmail.com> wrote:That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
Hold the front page: IrCOve found a very good contemporary novel to >>>>> occupy
my time. Such things have become vanishingly rare, even if one is
grateful for David MitchellrCOs metafiction, the occasional blast from >>>>> Michel Houllebecq and Ben MarcusrCOs engaging lunacy. By and large, >>>>> modern
novels lack depth, originality of form and language, political
unorthodoxy (i.e. freethinking) and a vaulting fictional imagination. >>>>> Where, today, would you find the J.G. Ballards, the David Storeys, the >>>>> Anthony Burgesses? In the sensitivity readerrCOs rejected pile, I
suspect.
Most modern novels seem to be written by bloody nice people who agree >>>>> with each other about everything and are wondering if they should
go on
one of those rCyWe hate the working classrCO marches they have in London >>>>> every month or so. They are literally bien-pensant rCo and hence, I >>>>> would
suggest, stupid. Trouble is the rCybadrCO people have been banished from >>>>> fiction: werCOre lucky that Henry Miller, C|-line, Genet and indeed that >>>>> gay-bashing, vegetarian-hating George Orwell lived before our twitchy, >>>>> censorious time.
Anyway, I digress. The novel in question is You Are The F|+hrerrCOs
Unrequited Love by the French author Jean-N||el Orengo. It has been
described in reviews as rCyunconventionalrCO, which I think means that it >>>>> isnrCOt about climate change. Instead, it documents the relationship >>>>> between Adolf Hitler and his pet architect, Albert Speer, a
relationship
characterised by almost unconditional love on the F|+hrerrCOs part, as >>>>> well
as a quasi-sexual infatuation. But the real point of it is to
demarcate
between hard truth and convenient lies rCo and wonder, with awe, at >>>>> how we
so much prefer the latter these days.
As Orengo says, itrCOs almost impossible to believe that, both at
Nuremberg and once Speer had been released from prison 20 years later, >>>>> we didnrCOt know rCydeep downrCO that Speer himself knew everything rCo >>>>> everything rCo about the extermination of the Jews. Given that as the >>>>> minister of armaments he was in charge of Jewish slave labour, as well >>>>> as being HitlerrCOs closest confidante, how could he not? But SpeerrCOs >>>>> absolutist and brilliant re-imagining of himself as a penitent Nazi >>>>> who
knew nothing about the really horrible stuff allowed him not merely to >>>>> escape the noose but also to become fabulously rich from memoirs that >>>>> werenrCOt simply unreliable, but were works of rCyradicalrCO (as Orengo puts
it) fiction.
Speer, it should be added, did not hate Jews like his knuckle-dragging >>>>> dullard colleagues. He just didnrCOt care and looked the other way. >>>>> And we
all (Gitta Sereny partially excepted) bought into the fiction of the >>>>> good Nazi. Hell, even Simon Wiesenthal became SpeerrCOs friend after his >>>>> release and the publication of his bestselling Inside the Third Reich >>>>> (which is also worth reading as an example of autofiction). How we all >>>>> yearned to believe that clever self-absolution written with confected >>>>> candour and delicacy in Spandau prison upon, fittingly, toilet paper. >>>>>
I was wondering about this when deciding what to talk about to a group >>>>> of British Jews in Leeds next month. The comparatively easy thing
to do
would be to document the rise of British anti-Semitism and tie it
to the
pro-Islamic far left, with its roots in old Cold War divisions and the >>>>> deeply anti-Semitic history of communism. All of this would be
true, of
course, but it wouldnrCOt really get us to the heart of the matter.
Instead, it would be a kind of glib evasion.
The real point resides somewhere at the heart of OrengorCOs story: the >>>>> propensity of perfectly decent people rCo the kind of people who might >>>>> write an angry novel about climate change, or maybe not write anything >>>>> at all but just have an obsessive quasirCosexual relationship with the >>>>> word rCyGazarCO and engagingly patterned Arabic headscarves rCo to believe
what accords in an agreeable manner with their already formed
opinions,
rather than with what they know, deep down, to be true.
A whole bunch of studies have shown that an awful lot of people who
spend their time online have a marked preference for fabrications and >>>>> fictions. This has been noted even rCo I say even but, God help us, that >>>>> qualifier is entirely redundant rCo among academics, who while they >>>>> might
recognise findings that contradict their idiotic assumptions, will
shelve those findings because theyrCOre not rCyusefulrCO politically. >>>>>
Down below those debauched shitgibbons are the millions tapping
away on
Facebook and Instagram, and in the BBC and Sky studios. Coerced by
modernity and stupidity into refusing to countenance an opinion which >>>>> might possibly conflict with their own, these people are pushed
further
and further by technology and its insistence upon a Manichean divide >>>>> between my side and your side. A divide where your side is never right >>>>> about anything. And not just wrong, but wicked, consisting of opinions >>>>> that can only be held by the sort of people who arenrCOt committed to >>>>> justice and who might occasionally enjoy a novel which isnrCOt about >>>>> climate change.
Dig beneath that and yourCOll find a society that considers the
acquisition of knowledge not merely less important than the
espousal of
a political viewpoint, but an intellectual cul de sac. There is
nothing
to be gained by knowledge rCo regrettably it has in the past been
fetishised as a desirable concept and often used to prevent
progress. In
our education system rCo and percolating way beyond, into the viscera of >>>>> the public rCo the notion of actually knowing stuff from which one can >>>>> then advance an argument is of no matter; in fact, itrCOs
reactionary. The
facts donrCOt matter You have your truth and I have mine. And mine is >>>>> not
only right, but unchallengeable.
Rod Liddle
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else, you'll be
oppressed." -Unknown
-a > free speech never leads to oppression
-a >
-a > #god
That being said, there are only five regular informants, and a fewlurkers, left on this forum, and only one full-time, so that's almost a
wrap.
Review the archives: there's only about five participants, for the past
five years on this forum.
It's not a total wrap yet. Where's Wilson?
On Sat, 16 May 2026 11:51:54 -0400, Wilson <Wilson@nowhere.invalid>
wrote:
On 5/15/2026 11:36 PM, dart200 wrote:
-a > free speech never leads to oppression
-a >
-a > #god
Never is a very long time.
Especially if you are a person who wants to silence the truth about
yourself. Politicians for instance.
On 5/15/2026 11:36 PM, dart200 wrote:
On 5/14/26 11:38 AM, Tara wrote:
On May 14, 2026 at 1:08:28rC>PM EDT, "Dude" <punditster@gmail.com> wrote: >>>>>
How do you talk to a conspiracy theorist?That might explain why you don't engage much with Nick and Noah.
You canrCOt and you donrCOt - because rCLthe facts donrCOt matterrCY >>>>>
"Always keep your limits when you tolerate some folks, or else,
you'll be
oppressed." -Unknown
-a-a > free speech never leads to oppression
-a-a >
-a-a > #god
Never is a very long time.
On 5/16/2026 11:55 AM, Noah Sombrero wrote:
On Sat, 16 May 2026 11:51:54 -0400, Wilson <Wilson@nowhere.invalid>
wrote:
On 5/15/2026 11:36 PM, dart200 wrote:
a > free speech never leads to oppression
a >
a > #god
Never is a very long time.
Especially if you are a person who wants to silence the truth about
yourself. Politicians for instance.
For someone who loves government and what it can do, that's kind of a >strange thing to say.
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