Sewer and Be Damned

How Anthony Licari fumed indignantly when it was suggested on this site that his writing had all the coherence of that which might be expected of a person under the influence of hallucinogenic substances. Not that it was written by an actual drug user (a useful legalistic distinction, it seems to me); just about as grounded in reason. Indeed, for all the indubitable harm that droppers of acid cause Maltese society, they could rarely be accused of the kind of teeth-grinding tedium and stultifying senselessness that this country’s columnists have inflicted upon their readers.

Back in the day, Licari harrumphed, as is his prerogative, about nameless trolls foaming at the mouth, referring ever so obliquely to Fausto Majjistral and myself. On that occasion, his peculiar brand of writing was so suffused with feverish purpleness and meaningless non sequitirs that it is unlikely that anybody but the people in question had the faintest clue what he was on about. His clumsy attempt at caustic invective thus fell catastrophically flat on that occasion, though I would be lying if I did not say that his words did leave an impression on me. After all, he may have had a point.
Is it my place to question the pronouncements of a person who has studied at three universities, a fact he takes much pride in? Unlike Licari, I am not a lecturer in psycholinguistics (or sociolinguistics and geolinguistics, for that matter), and can therefore not presume to question the state of mind of a person capable of giving form to this sentence:

"Meanwhile, the sick brandy continues to make us smart and reel. For, after all, it was said that I am the coach and I like to react to serious advice with loud, metallic, hysterical laughter while playing the lyre. This continuous laughter by conservativo maximo is getting on the nerves of the Nats."

For those unwilling to read the original article, let me explain. Incidentally, you would not be blamed for the omission, for the piece is most, how shall we say, literarily challenging (ahem). In launching his ruthless excoriation of the Malta Tourism Authority’s recent activities, he begins with a bold and fittingly linguistic sleight of hand. As even the most dull-witted reader will apprehend, the word brand, as in “Brand Malta”, is quite similar to the word brandy. Well, quite similar.
Ok, this next bit is a tricky. Once you have established that the two apparently unrelated words are phonetically (is this right, Anthony?) consonant, you then use one to refer to the other. Thus achieving wit. So, but sick brandy (hic), he means a medicinal cure that makes you reel and, well, er, you get it
Admittedly, that one was hard. Let us try a real easy one next. When you want to make people laugh uncontrollably at your mastery of the humorous idiom, merely use a word to mean the opposite of what you intend. Cynics will object that this device, known as sarcasm, is “the lowest form of wit”. But as any schoolchild can tell you, “wit is the highest form of humour,” and sarcasm gets no wittier than when it is deployed by Malta’s most accomplished geolinguistician:

"Few people would not admit nowadays that tourism is enjoying a lovely nosedive as a result of incompetence, inefficiency and downright pig-headedness."

But Licari is not just about wicked wordplay and verbal mastery. He isn’t pulling his punches when it comes to weighty social and academic issues that dominate the day. Indeed, he is thirsty for scientific rigour and will resolutely refuse to give in to ham-fisted approximation and obtuse generalisations:

"Men of the West seem to be increasingly finding wives and partners in Eastern Europe. No formal scientific study that I know of has attempted to analyse this phenomenon. However, Western newspapers, often for reasons of sensationalism, like to print stories about East European women who have 'tricked' West European men."

He later concludes that these people are little more than “veritable village idiots”, so not a lot mileage there it turns out.
On and on it goes in this eclectic (erratic and incoherent, for the Philistines) vein. Yet, the last paragraph did force a theatrical double-take out of me. And please recall that this is written by a person who took such umbrage at my decidedly restrained characterisation of his excruciating articles:

"Cartoonists are an important element in journalism - even if few of them have actually followed a course in journalism and I don't understand how they are called "journalists". Even less journalistic are cartoonists who have an obsession with the vulgar, with toilet functions and with whatever belongs to all things biological and putrid. If you know anyone in this pathetic psychological situation, please be a good Christian and suggest to him/her to visit a psychologist who can identify the origins of such morbidity before moving on to its possible cure."

Coyly, with a cheeky little finger poised over his mouth Austin Powers-style, he is effectively implying that Maurice Tanti Burlò is clinically insane and possibly suffers from faecal fixation. I feel entitled to say this as he does after all invite his reader to nominate candidates with “obsession with the vulgar, with toilet functions”.

I’m not certain that Tanti Burlò is actually obsessed with toilet functions (there seem little grounds for such a sensational charge), but if Licari has such a valiant belief in his convictions, as he has indeed previously claimed, perhaps he ought to be that kind Christian and issue his benevolent invitation to Tanti Burlò in his next column. As a psycholinguist, heaven knows that he is considerably more qualified than me to perform the deed. He wouldn't want to appear hypocritical now, would he?