![]() He pulled the sleeves of his V-neck sweater down over his hands, making it into a comfortable kind of straitjacket, and announced with dark certainty that "the School of Resentment" is killing off the art of reading: "Instead of a reader "The rabblement, the barbarians have taken over the academy," he wailed, his voice, nasal and tremulous, rising piteously. Is nigh, but the threatened Bloom-doom is strictly literary. Or could it be the other way around? No - Bloom admits that despite a bleeding ulcer that nearly killed him a few years back, his life is not in immediate danger from any somatic cause. ![]() Literature is dying and so, ipso facto, is Harold Bloom. ![]() "These resentniks have destroyed theĬanon." Enfeebled despite his generous bulk, he summoned the stamina for some impressive elegiac flourishes, usually prefaced with a "My dear" or a "My dear fellow." Once, with a tragic sigh, he breathed, "I am Collapsed on a reclining armchair, brow furrowed, mouth sour, the 64-year-old Bloom looked worse than pained. Seemed intent on staging a deathbed scene. ![]() Colossus Among Critics: Harold Bloom By ADAM BEGLEY N EARLY SUMMER, I PAID TWO VISITS TO Harold Bloom, the eminent literary critic famous for his prodigious intellectual energy. ![]()
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