Editor's Note

...without folly there is no pleasure in life.
      —Erasmus of Rotterdam, In Praise of Folly

Welcome to the debut issue of Folly. We've had fun collecting these witty pieces from various writers around the Net—mostly our backscratching cronies, but a few not—and we think you'll enjoy them, too.

In these first few weeks of Folly's existence, we've received many submissions from talented writers: some with impressive publication histories, others for whom this issue will be their first publication ever. Most have been on the light, playful end of the spectrum, but we have some darker, edgier pieces as well. It's been a pleasure reviewing them all, and we hope you'll keep 'em coming.

One thing that surprised us about the submissions was that the majority of authors were male. What gives, ladies? It's surely not a lack of ability. Perhaps, despite the great strides women have made in the literary world, there's still some underlying insecurity: If I write spoofs and send-ups, I won't be taken seriously. But it's precisely those people who take themselves too seriously who end up the subject of spoofs and send-ups. Besides, satire and parody are great equalizers. What better tool than wit to puncture the hot-air balloon of male superiority?

We've experienced an even more dire shortage of artwork submissions. Granted, poetry is our main interest, but we'd love to include some photos or cartoons in our next issue.

The most painful experience so far has been turning down good, funny poems because they weren't clearly (to us, anyway) satirical or parodic. In such cases, we like to give the poet an opportunity to talk us into it; explain why a given poem qualifies as satire, or what it parodies that we were just too dense to recognize. This approach seemed to confound and even offend a few of our submitters, who are accustomed to receiving a flat "yes" or "no" from editors rather than having a dialog. But we're people, not robots, and as long as we're not being barraged by 10,000 submissions per month, we see no reason to behave like robots.

Some work we turned down because it wasn't the kind of satire or parody that we are personally, perhaps idiosyncratically, most fond of. Of these, a few were satires that came down too hard on people or types we consider trivially easy targets. These got me thinking about what, in my opinion, is the most important quality of good satire: justice.

Consider a poem that ruthlessly ridicules a stupid, poor, uneducated, cuckolded, ugly, badly dressed man with a drinking problem and an extremely nasal voice. There's something deeply unsatisfying about such a piece. First, it's clear that such a man is already suffering; you can't cut him down if he's already down. Second, several of these qualities are entirely outside his control: ugliness, for example. Third, some of his flaws are benign and forgivable, such as his lack of fashion sense. Fourth, even if some of this poor slob's problems are of his own making, and irritating to others, there's a sense that the punishment should fit the crime. Such a situation calls for a playful nose-tweaking, not an evisceration. In short, Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

Finally, where's the challenge? Where's the risk? When Pope penned his Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, his targets were "some persons of rank and fortune." It was a dangerous undertaking; they could have ruined him, or even had him killed. In the case of our hypothetical shlemiel, his shortcomings are so obvious that satirizing him requires little skill, and because he poses no danger, little courage.

Biting satire is best when it knocks people off pedestals; when the target is someone rich and powerful whom the public has put on a pedestal, or a self-important twit who's climbed atop his own imagined pedestal. It's just more just that way. Have you ever heard someone say, "O how the humble have fallen"? Of course not. Midas' ears wouldn't be as funny if they were attached to a beggar instead of a king; Swift's Modest Proposal mocked the complacent well-to-do, not the starving Irish; and the humble Candide was a genius compared to the learned Pangloss.

Okay, stepping off the soapbox now. Satirical poetry gets so little respect it's a wonder anyone writes it at all. It's encouraging that so many do, though, and I'm delighted to be able to present some fine satirical poems in this issue, along with some very clever parodies, and a few that fall somewhere in between. Many thanks to all who contributed!

Best regards,
C. Sharpe, Editor