Dave Itzkoff is blathering again in the pages of the New York Times, once more demonstrating himself to be a critiquer of a field for which he feels only embarrassment. It’s as if the newspaper has, after a long search, managed to select the anti-Michael Dirda as its regular SF reviewer.

There are times that I almost wish that the New York Times didn’t cover SF at all rather than have Itzkoff covering it, because I don’t like having to wince several times whenever I read each of his columns. Today, for example, while praising two YA novels, he actually begins by slamming the entire genre:

I sometimes wonder how any self-respecting author of speculative fiction can find fulfillment in writing novels for young readers. I suppose J. K. Rowling could give me 1.12 billion reasons in favor of it: get your formula just right and you can enjoy worldwide sales, film and television options, vibrating-toy-broom licensing fees, Chinese-language bootlegs of your work, a kind of limited immortality (L. Frank Baum who?) and—finally—genuine grown-up readers. But where’s the artistic satisfaction? Where’s the dignity?

Where’s the artistic satisfaction, Dave? Where’s the dignity? (more…)