The 66% rule

Blogging as a science/art form/menace - depending on your point of view - is still in its infancy, culturally speaking. There's no official written protocol - nobody gives lessons in it; most of us are making it up as we go along (or at least I am).

Since recent events and journalistic opinions have highlighted the issue of integrity - or the lack of it - in the blogosphere, I though I'd set down the rule of thumb that usually governs posts here in the Tavern.

Socrates, rebuking an Athenian for spreading gossip, advised asking three questions before saying anything:

- Is it true?
- Is it kind?
- Is it necessary?

It is my firm belief that a pseudonymous blogger can maintain personal integrity as long as any two of those three conditions apply.

An unkind statement - or accusation - must always be checked for accuracy and there should be a good reason for publishing it. Where there is doubt, a caveat or attribution is needed to warn readers of the fact.

An untrue statement is acceptable as long as it harms no one and there is a perceived purpose to it - which, lest we get too po-faced about it, can be to make people laugh.

And I doubt anyone would have a problem with a statement that is both true and kind, however slight the reason for including it.

In the words of Meat Loaf, "Two out of three ain't bad" - or, according to the sleevenotes of a Chinese bootleg CD, "Sixty-six percent is alright".

Anna Raccoon - gratias atque vale

In the previous post, I suggested that some of the great 19th century novelists would have been prolific and entertaining bloggers - Dickens, at least, was part-way there with his social commentary combined with comedy, pathos and witty asides.

If Dickens had a spiritual descendant among today's bloggers, it was surely Anna Raccoon - tireless researcher, indomitable campaigner, witty satirist and gifted raconteuse. The blogosphere will be much poorer for her absence, though I suspect she will be happy to put recent events behind her.

I don't pretend to understand all the issues that escalated into a full-scale campaign against her - all I know is that, even under the pressure that eventually caused her to call it a day, she took the time to offer me advice - and to follow it up with kind enquiries later - a generous gesture much appreciated.

It seems I'm not alone - other bloggers, too, have found her a source of inspiration and support. The anxiety caused by her abrupt disappearance suggests that her absence will be keenly felt by many and that her well-wishers greatly outnumber those trying to do her harm.

Now she has abandoned blogging, I hope their efforts will cease and that she can enjoy a well-earned rest. And perhaps, if we're lucky, in the fullness of time there will be a memoir incorporating some of the tales that have made us marvel at her talent for story-telling.

For anyone who has not yet read it, her final message is here (courtesy of GOT) and some of the regular contributors to her blog can now be found at http://a-nest-of-procyon-lotor.blogspot.com/

Fame - at any price?

"The time was once when thou, unurged, would'st vow
That never words were pleasing to thine ear,
That never object pleasing to thine eye,
That never touch were welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd to thy taste
Unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved to thee."

The unhappy Adriana, in A Comedy of Errors, describes the all-encompassing love her husband used to profess for her. To modern eyes, the expression may sound rather florid, but the concept is alive and kicking. The British public have an insatiable appetite for the endorsement of the famous - at least if the news media are to be believed.

Consider, for example, the 'Delia Effect', or Jamie Oliver promoting Sainsbury's food, or perhaps the lustre added to perfumes and cosmetics by a smiling celebrity. Even breakfast cereal gets in on the act; no product, it seems, is so mundane that a sprinkle of stardust won't help it sell.

Almost anything the advertising industry tries to sell us has a celebrity on hand, to speak, or look, or touch, or carve for us. And when we're not being enticed to buy, we're bombarded by the media with endless personal information. Even the supposedly highbrow BBC has a good line in celebrity gossip cropping up in unexpected places.

Take for example a series from the news pages in 2006 - linked to in an article about Claire Rayner. Entitled 'Celebrity Health', the features interviewed such diverse characters as Sir Stirling Moss, Rabbi Lionel Blue and Britt Eckland about their health. Now call me a cynic, but are someone's gallstones really more interesting if they have been on TV?

The development of mass media in the 20th century means that many of today's celebrities were born to the purple, children who neither achieved fame nor had it thrust upon them but who were simply born famous. Trying to compete with the offspring of Rod Stewart, Mick Jagger et al drives aspiring youngsters into ever more extreme behaviour to get noticed.

All of this is fed by a public avid for more information, and it's getting nastier, if the covers of the magazines are anything to go by. 'Overdoses!' 'Divorce!' 'Cellulite!' the headlines shriek - human life played out for entertainment to accompany a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit.

The whole thing reached its apotheosis in 'famous for being famous' - the darlings of the gossip column who enjoy a brief ubiquity with no-one knowing exactly why (although a cynic might make some shrewd guesses).

The unexpected result of this is a generation of schoolchildren whose stated ambition is 'to be famous' - nothing more, not 'famous' for anything - just 'famous'. Ask them to define fame, and - along with a fair few blank stares - you'll get the answer 'it's everybody wanting to know all about you' - a truly horrible concept.

All of which is a long-winded way of getting round to the concept of anonymity; in the days when the Bronte sisters were Acton, Ellis and Currer Bell and books were written by 'A Lady' or under pseudonyms such as 'Saki', 'BB' or 'Sapper', no one seemed to mind that some writers preferred not to be publicly recognised, now it's almost unimaginable.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not suggesting bloggers are the equivalent of the great 19th century novelists, though I bet Mrs Gaskell or Anthony Trollope would have been prolific and entertaining bloggers - but in this fame-obsessed society, Andrew Marr makes the common mistake of attributing a sinister motive to all of us who choose to hide behind a pseudonym, whatever the reason.

(H/T for inspiration to The Appalling Strangeness and The Cynical Tendency)


Fascinating Aida have their own take on fame - though, in the words of Dillie Keane, "Those of a sensitive disposition - leave now."