Daring To Name Names

Remember my previous post on Another Bullshit Night in Suck City? It's a literary memoir about the author's relationship with his alcoholic father.

National Public Radio recently interviewed author Nick Flynn on "Morning Edition." You can hear it here.

Interestingly, the book title that so intrigued me is deemed unspeakable on NPR. They don't say it until the very end and then they say, literally, "Another B.S. night in Suck City." If the book's title is so unspeakable, why even bother discussing it? My spouse said it was just another example of NPR being ridiculously squeamish. I think it's kind of silly of them myself. Like people are going to run screaming from their radio if they hear the word bullshit, especially after hearing the disturbing story of a wretched, homeless alcoholic.

Not that this kind of thing hasn't happened before in other media. The New York Times, for instance, reviewed a play by Suzan-Lori Parks called "Fucking A," but refused to name it. (Here's a Village Voice review documenting the flap.) The Times referred to it as "F----- A". I honestly couldn't figure out what the title was for the longest time ... I knew it was some variation on "Fuck" but the familiar phrase just didn't occur to me. Finally, I was in New York visiting friends and saw an unexpurgated sign advertising the play. "Oooooh! That's what it is!"
And Parks isn't some nobody flinging around profanity for an easy pose, either. She won a Pulitzer for her play "Topdog/Underdog" and wrote a novel, "Getting Mother's Body." I haven't read any of it, but my favorite independent bookstore recommends "Getting Mother's Body," so it's probably pretty good.

Yet the NFL can show Janet Jackson's exposed breast or their similarly tasteless Desperate Housewives promo. (I'm not going to bother detailing these recent flaps; if you haven't heard about them, read about it here.)

I don't worry so much about TV taste scandals. If you don't want to see crude depictions of sexual commodification, here's a news flash: Don't turn on your TV. Shocking as it may seem, you don't have even have to have a TV in your home. Though I wonder how many people realize this.

But literary self-censorship bothers me more. I don't want to live in a world full of profanity, by any means, but come on. This is serious literature here. If it's worth talking about, why not just say the name? Isn't there a common-sense solution here that doesn't smack of big-brotherish prudery?

What's your opinion?