On clarity

David Ruiz

06 Jun 2025 — 1 min read

It's taken me about four weeks to process Omer Bartov's article "Infinite License" in The New York Review of Books because what it deploys is a moral clarity so genuine and firm that it's almost disorienting in today's media landscape.

Legitimately, I've tried to find radical or insightful or improbable things to fit onto this article ("The New York Review of Books is the most satisfyingly progressive publication today;" "Bartov's examination of the Israeli government's campaign against Gaza and the Palestinian people is unsparing in its precision—degloving the state's fat, fleshy thumb to reveal a skeleton thirst for blood;" "This also relates to 'Gravity's Rainbow'—no wait hear me out!), but the only thing that matters is that people read the piece.

It may take you several days (it's long). It may stir sickness (it's accurate). But it is also a little mandatory, I believe, to look at something directly in its face and label it for what it is.

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On Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose"

On Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein"

On Ben Shattuck's "The History of Sound"

On Ursula K. Le Guin's "The Left Hand of Darkness"