YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED
Q. I live in a very small village where peo- ple remain offended for several decades by real or perceived slights. And now I face a very serious problem indeed. An acquain- tance in the village has given me his poems to evaluate. He reasons that, because I have an MA in English from Oxford and a PhD in the same subject, I will be able to offer him a sound critical opinion and, of course, help him get them published. Apart from my education having rendered me quite useless for either activity, the poems are truly awful. I should never have agreed to look at them in the first place. Now he has taken to phoning me demand- ing my verdict. I have bought a little time by saying that I am preparing a detailed written critique — which, of course, I'm not. I won't be able to avoid this issue much longer. If I even hint at the truth, he will be mortified — he obviously thinks his work is of the first, quality. Yet I can't find a single thing in any poem to commend, and I simply won't be able to sustain the pretence of admiring them when he asks me to go through them one by one. What can I do? Please help me.
Name and address withheld A. Ask a friend, any friend, who does not live locally but who could pass as being rea- sonable literate, to pen a letter to you along
Dear Mary. . .
the following lines: 'Thank you for sending me Mr X's poetry. I am afraid I cannot share your enthusiasm. May I remind you what your own tutor wrote about you at Oxford: "Where poetry is concerned, he has a curiously distorted judgment, failing to see the most shiningly evident merits in the great works while singling out for praise the crassest doggerel." To be blunt, I can- not see any merit, evident or otherwise, in Mr X's work. I suggest you would do him a great favour by withdrawing from your role as literary adviser since your "distorted judgment" could do nothing but hinder his progress.' Summon your neighbour. Answer the door in slightly accusatory mode. 'I'm afraid you've let me in for it badly. I've had a real stinker. I've had my confidence completely knocked for six,' you can mutter as you show him the letter. Then continue, 'I'd forgotten what that tutor said about me but he was probably right. I just don't know any more. I've thrown away my critique. You'd be best ignoring anything I have to say. It seems the rest of the literary establishment would. . . . 'By banging on in this self-pity- ing vein you will convert his natural response of indignation into sympathy towards you, guilt at having subjected you to this humiliation, and a sense of solidarity in your both being inadequates together.
Q. A good wheeze (excuse the expression) for Mrs T.L. of Norfolk and her nose-pick- ing husband would be for you to suggest, as you have so sagely in the past, that she 'does a Nicky Haslam', and insists Mr T.L. inserts a magnetic nose stud. Such a device conveniently and silently reprimands those probing fingers.
Name and address withheld A. Thank you for your tip. A magnetic nose stud would certainly be effective — indeed the more substantial the stud the better. Sufferers could commission their local jew- eller to knock up a pair of studs, perhaps in portcullis style to block off the entire nos- tril area and eliminate any danger of digital access while still allowing ongoing breath- ing activities to continue.
Mary Killen
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