A defense of writing critical arts reviews during a year of catastrophe

Datebook: Maybe some critics relish writing a zinger-stuffed, disdain-drenched drubbing. You know this sort of pan. To read it is to sneak a forbidden candy — provided you’re not the one being panned. Even in the before times, though, my own pan process was less licking of lips, less issuing of “muahahaha” and more pulling out of hair, more gnashing of teeth, more curling into the fetal position to ask the gods if it’s really worth it to make so many people hate me once again, just to write something less than a paean.