After sixteen months, and a few late fits and starts, Cinderella Bloggerfeller has finally decided to hang up his glass slipper. Don’t go over there and encourage him to come back. I used to do that when my favorite bloggers retired until I realized how tiresome it is. There are other joys in life, and if you’re sick of blogging, quit. Then, if you were any good, you get to read your own obituaries.
The worst name in blogging history was the least of Cinderella’s distinctions. He was among the wittiest of bloggers; sample his account of his birth, his New Apocalypse Review, his one-entry series of Inspired Misspellings of the Blogosphere, his brief and expanded eulogies for Edward Said, and his nifty lift from Swift.
I can count on the fingers of one hand the blogs that are irreplaceable: Cinderella’s was one. He specialized in translations from Polish, French, Spanish, and Italian. Some were literary, some philological, some political. Cinderella followed assiduously the nasty goings-on in Transcaucasia, of which most Westerners are at best dimly aware. (This entertaining Insider’s Guide to the Stans should get you started.) He consistently dug up useful articles and interviews that we monoglot Americans wouldn’t have found or been able to read if we had.
Glenn Reynolds does what he does supremely well, but if he were to disappear tomorrow, some pocket-Reynolds, like James Joyner, would spring up to take his place. There are no pocket-Cinderellas, and in his absence we shall simply have to do without.