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I have enjoyed Garrison's humor since the 1970s, when I was a college student in the Twin Cities. I listen to the show, I buy the books, I read this column -- hell, I I buy the audiobooks and CDs. And I will continue to do so.
But every now and then Garrison writes something that is so wrong that I have to hope that it's humor, and yet stated so unusually flatly that I hear him meaning what he says. Such is the case in this column, where he expresses disdain for the work of new Nobel literature laureate Harold Pinter.
Maybe Garrison is just goofing off, and, if so, that might be an appropriate tribute to the elusive Pinter. Pinter's plays evoke the uncertainties and anxieties of 20th century life better than any other playwright on the globe. They are anything but tedious if read imaginatively, or, if well staged. And, while they may be dismal at times, that's the nature of what the writer is depicting, not the way it is depicted. It's about time that the best British playwright of the late 20th century got the Nobel.
So, while I still enjoy and admire Garrison's writing, and even respect the short scripts that he's written for the stage, he is NO drama critic.
