Abstract
There are times when, if one has any sense of irony at all, the conviction of living in a David Lodge novel becomes virtually inescapable. The propensity for some academics to unwittingly satirize themselves allows the rest of us to sit back and enjoy the show. Although I did not know that Lauren Berlant and Lee Edelman would be offered a right of reply, my essay seems to have accomplished the improbable feat of healing the rift between these querulous two. They can now speak with a unified, indignant voice until, toward the end of their response, dissension emerges around the status of Berlant's prose. Edelman gallantly leaps to defend it, while she is “more conciliatory, agreeing that the sentence [cited] looked awful.” Now comes the Lodge-worthy moment. “But then she returned … to read it in context, and there found the sentence clear and even sonorous.” You cannot make this stuff up.
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