(Note: Most of you, dear readers, can quite happily skip to this part, with little real loss. What follows is honest and necessary, but also pretentious, affording no opportunity for the use of colorful phrases like "fucking ass-weasels." You have been warned.)

I'll let Martin Amis be the lead-off batter for this one:

"Democratization has made one inalienable gain: equality of the sentiments. I think Gore Vidal said this first, and he said it, not quite with mockery, but with lively skepticism. He said that, nowadays, nobody's feelings are more authentic, and thus more important, than anyone else's. This is the new credo, the new privilege. it is a privilege much exercised in the contemporary book review, whether on the Web or in the literary pages. The reviewer calmly tolerates the arrival of the new novel or slim volume, defensively settles into it, and then sees which way it rubs him up. The right way or the wrong way. The results of this contact will form the data of the review, without any reference to the thing behind. And the thing behind, I am afraid, is talent, and the canon, and the body of knowledge we call literature."

To understand the full context of this statement (upon which I here invite a wide variety of unjust judgments by severing it from its original surroundings), I encourage the reader to examine Amis' The War Against Cliche, or at the very least its brief foreword. This statement, which I think invested with an uncommon degree of truth, is not a swipe against the wisdom of the commons but a gentle and knowing reminder that we live in a time when "What I Feel" is deemed more important than "How and Why I Feel That Way."

We, as a society, are daily told that our opinions are valid merely because they exist. Isn't it grand to have opinions, and to know that in the final analysis they are all of no greater or lesser value than any other? Frankly, no. That attitude is beyond disquieting, it is sub-rational, anti-talent, anti-skill. One of the wonders of being human is the chance for self-improvement by gathering evidence, discarding the weak and the untrue ideas and keeping the stronger, more reasonable ones. We progress by degrees from universal absolutes (orange juice is a much healthier beverage than potassium cyanide) to demonstrable arguments (Freud's theories are based on flawed premises, the Vietnam War was a great blow to American self-respect) to simple and irreconcilable differences of personal taste (Kate Winslet is fifteen thousand times more attractive than Julia Roberts.) What we must remember is that the third category of opinion is best reserved for the inconsequential and the trivial, for those things that truly do not have any impact on the development of civilization and the enlightenment of other human beings. The world does not care whether I select an apple fritter or a bear claw from the convenience store baked goods case, nor should it. No research is necessary. No opinion is more valid than any other.

What we lack as a society is a broad sense of responsibility for drawing firm lines between consequential and inconsequential opinions. One's opinions on the politics of the day or the importance of literature are not the same as one's preference in donuts; research, context, and clear judgment are required in the former instances, and one's arguments may be demonstrated to be quite wrong.

Public review of creative works has, on the whole and with little ceremony, increasingly detached itself from the ideal of progress in the arts and from the capacity to praise or condemn the quality of the creator's vision. We are instead presented with simple catalogs of sensation, simple summaries of plot, simple wrap-up comments that have no basis in evidence or research. It is no longer entirely necessary to validate our opinions because we are somehow expected to believe that the mere fact of their existence qualifies them for the big race.

The Dork Cynic reviews, however imperfect and meager and wanting for maturity they may be, are my vehicle for bringing my critical sensibility to focus on the reader's behalf. As a reviewer, it is more than my duty to tell you what I think about a book or a film, it is my duty to tell you why I think such things, and where I gather my evidence from, and what references I make to the existing body of works and knowledge that our human civilization has built up over the past few thousand years. It is my duty to make a recommendation in a scientific fashion, to applaud and condemn with a reasoned and measured hand, to offer something more than a few thin paragraphs of plot summary and an ambiguous summation.

I offer the Dork Cynic reviews because I am relatively qualified to do so. I wouldn't waste your time if I wasn't. I am qualified to offer judgment on genre entertainment in just the way that I am completely unsuited to discuss recent developments in high-energy physics or figure-skating or small-engine repair. I promise the reader more than plot summaries and empty summations, more than sound bites, more than breezy catalogs of my feelings. My feelings are not genuinely important to you, my carefully-engineered opinions are. If you're wondering what I have to offer. I offer context. You learn nothing by discovering that I like something and learn a great deal by discovering why I like it. I offer Because.

And, dammit, shouldn't reviews be at least a tiny bit of fun to read?

Cynicism Revealed

The Little Wolf, my better half, has pointed out approximately 1.8 million times that my opinions are skewed because I'm a cynic. Indeed I am, and I'll tell you why I think that's a good thing.

Scratch a cynic and you'll find a closet idealist. My layers of sarcasm and passionate vulgarity have built up over the years to shelter than idealism against the world; I am cynical because only a wall of cynicism leaves me free to dream. I am not here to "calmly tolerate" the arrival of each new creative work I examine, I am here to proceed on the assumption that each new work is going to blow my goddamn socks off. I set my expectations high. I set the dial to 11. I do not hope for mere entertainment, I hope for brilliance from everything.

I proceed into each examination wanting desperately to find the good, the sincere, the well-done and the truly unique. These qualities are in truth rare and elusive, but I proceed into each new experience having reset my brain to the expectation that they are right around the corner. I am most eager to tug your sleeve, dear reader, and drag you with me screaming "This is good! This is genuinely good!" I am only slightly less eager to vivisect the fraudulent, the insincere, the foolish, the mediocre, and the second-rate. I expect and demand wonderful things, and I keep my knives sharp for when I don't get them.

The easygoing defense of mediocrity is a fashionable thing, and I myself am guilty of it from time to time. "Don't be so hard on such-and-such," says the voice of contemporary reason, "it's only entertainment, and if you set your sights too high you're always going to be disappointed."

To which I am forced to reply, "is this any better than setting one's sights firmly on the mediocre and getting it every time?" Life is simply too damn short to settle for diminished expectations in everything. When we decide that Star Trek: Voyager is all science fiction really needs to be-- a few familiar faces and an idiot script to keep us company as we doze off each night-- we are taking a psychic sledgehammer to our sense of wonder and our taste for quality. We are shrugging off one of the privileges that comes from being a human in a civilization of humans, the capacity for ongoing self-improvement.

It is a mistake to grow complacent in our expectations.

It is a mistake to shy away from drawing lines between success and failure, between excellence and mediocrity.

It is a mistake to assume that all opinions are by their very nature equal.

Thus, Dork Cynic. If you don't like it, write me a letter, and use complete sentences. I will absorb legitimate criticism with humble enthusiasm, and I will nail your ass to the electronic wall if you can't offer any. Remember, now... context. Evidence. Because.

Something Approximating Frequently Asked Questions

Q. Why "Dork Cynic?"
A. Truth in advertising. "Geek Cynic" seems like it's trying too hard to stretch for the tongue-in-cheek credibility that the label "geek" now carries in many circles. I am a geek, but I am also a dork, a dork rampant,a loud-mouthed yahoo going around starting shit. "Nerd Cynic" didn't have the proper attitude or poetry.

Q. What's with all the fucking swearing, asshole?

A. I don't believe in placing words into arbitrary categories of propriety. Some few words I simply will not use because I consider them to be appalling in etymology (if you must know, "cunt" is right out. I rarely type it in my own voice and I loathe it. It lacks the playful resonance of "bitch," the delightful versatility of "fuck" and "shit," the everyday utility of "asshole"). I resort to vulgarity when vulgarity is fun, spicy, and relevant, and I tend to avoid it merely because I am in the mood to do so.
So, be advised that some of those awful icky words the parents' advocacy groups warned you about are bound to crop up here from time to time, and they're welcome to stay. If you don't like it, well, go the fuck somewhere else. That's what the French call "le subtlety."

Q. Why don't you get a feedback forum?
A. Why don't you send me three hundred troy ounces of gold bouillon?

Q. Seriously, why don't you get a feedback forum?
A. Because I think a "letters column" approach has more dignity. Send me reasoned, well-written feedback and I'll give you a reasoned, well-written response right beside your letter for all the visitors to the site to see. My experiences with forums at Rpg.net and Ain't it Cool News have left me eager to experiment with feedback styles. Feedback forums can be a nice thing, and they can also be a facilitator for subliterate misunderstandings on a vast scale.

Q. What are your qualificiations?
A. I assure you that I am beyond all shadow of a doubt a Dork. I have seen Transformers: The Moviemore than sixty times, and I own the soundtrack on CD and cassette. I am so armored in dorkishness that thy threats of un-hipness pass me by as an idle wind.

Q. Who the hell are you?
A. I'm Scott Lynch, 23, a resident of St. Paul, Minnesota. I am precisely who I say I am. All the bio information on my site is factual. I'm a small-time freelance writer and editor, and I'm a Dork Cynic. I am tendentious and overbearing and difficult to shut up. I believe it's less of a crime to be vainglorious than it is to be dull. I write to entertain as well as enlighten, I know much more about some things than you do, and I know much less about a great deal than almost everyone reading this. I like Wild Cherry Pepsi.

Q. Why don't you review every major new genre release?
A. In addition to being a Cynic of limited means, I'm not going to write about something if I can't tell you why I like it or dislike it. If I can't offer reasons and evidence, if I have nothing to give you but my own emotions, I'm going to shut the hell up. This, more than anything else, will be the reason for prominent omissions in the Dork Cynic reviews as time rolls by.

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