Mr. A.J. Liebling Surveys The Press: A Demurring View

I have always been depressed by books about newspapers. Theodore Bernstein's Watch Your Language, while delightfully written and all that, was really a high school English book, and Carl J. Lindstrom's The Fading American Newspaper demonstrated what is wrong with American journalism more by its own soporific style than by the points it raised.

Now we are presented with a paperback called The Press, by A.J. Liebling, and I am still depressed by books about newspapers. This latest entry into the field isn't even a book; it is merely a collection of Liebling's "Wayward Press" articles from the New Yorker. There is nothing particularly edifying about 284 pages of ancient New Yorker articles laid end to end, and Liebling's "book," by resuscitating old failures, contributes little toward a solution to the problems of the American press.

Of course, the points Liebling raises are valid. He notes the dangers inherent in the growing consolidation of newspapers--but everybody already knows them. He points out that the Associated Press and United Press International wires are often inadequate and misinformed--but everybody knows that. He observes that the foreign news coverage of most American newspapers is disgraceful--but everybody knows that. He says that many American papers are filled with useless garbage--but everybody knows that.

Flailing dead turkeys is fun, and obviously it is profitable. But it takes precious little skill, and at this point accomplishes nothing in a positive direction. The image of Liebling sitting in his fat, stuffed armchair and laughing his head off at some of the articles he comes across hardly fills one with admiration.

And these New Yorker conceits are not really writing, anyway. It is hardly difficult to quote silly news articles at length, and get laughs out of them; after 100 pages, though, this gets pretty damn boring. And when Liebling inserts a few words of his own between the great gobs of reprints, his tone is one of utter pomposity, of the man who has been everywhere, read everything, and done all there is to do. His presumed knowledge of every situation that arises is nothing if not infuriating.