One ends, finally, by asking oneself in bewilderment: Why should anyone ever wish to write such a book? The only possible answer can be to work off a staggering load of resentment and anxiety. The whole operation resembles an exercise in pathology. Yet madness seems to be culturally determined. We run amok in ways approved by our fellow citizens.
He's writing about William Prynne's Histriomastix, but you could cut and paste that into a review of any of hundreds more books.