Kay Ryan is an okay writer, but there is nothing spiritual about her homosexuality.

This is from an email I received Friday afternoon, from a stranger who had entered the Rattle Poetry Prize competition. He goes on to explain that Ryan doesn’t believe in a conscious universe, and that she has “an uncontrolled influence on any reader.” The implication, I suppose, is that by praising her work we run the risk turning into gay humanists.

If I’d had anything in my mouth, beverage or otherwise, I’d have spit it out all over my keyboard. Not only is the blatant bigotry stunning to me, but the audacity of saying something like this to a total stranger, as if he expects me to smirk and nod, is something I haven’t encountered in years. Maybe I’ve been living in the city of angels too long — is this really still part of social discourse in the 21st century?

He said he read this blog, but “didn’t want to turn [my] readership off with PC controversy in a public post.” Among many other subjects, now might be a good time to explain to our friend the real definition of literary irony, because boy is that wish not coming true.

As I’ve written before, uninvited obnoxious emails are fair game in this space. But I’m not going to reveal his name. Instead, I’m going to see if he reveals it himself. This “poet” seems to be living in the Dark Ages, but I think a medieval punishment is more fitting.

I’m talking to you now, big guy: Do you have the courage to come out of the closet and defend your opinion in the daylight of a public space? Or do you suddenly feel oppressed, having your private thoughts scrutinized? You might like to hide behind the PC wall of “not offending”, and you can keep doing that. But it seems to me that if you were strong in your convictions, you’d be willing to shout, instead of whisper. I’ll even allow anonymous comments, if you’d rather wear a beard and apologize.

And to the casual reader: Ready your rotten fruit. He’s all yours.