6 September 2009

I like these two articles in today’s NY Sunday Times:

Former Simon & Schuster executive Joni Evans on publishing before Darwinian forces took over (she herself chose flight over fight) — “When Publishing Had Scents and Sounds.”

Alexis Mainland on subway readers (drat!  I’d been wanting to write this article myself).  I’d never thought of it this way before, but she makes the good point that the subway — absent cell or Internet connection — is the last oasis of low-tech, where reading, thinking, observing, napping, or listening to music are your best options.

4 September 2009

I have a post up at The Millions today, about SLOWness.

The irony is that the post was written (for me) relatively quickly.  Anything written in a single day, for me, is quickly.  It means that the thoughts/words have not had time to percolate, to rise up and whisper to me (often as I’m trying to sleep), to let me know that they  need more from me — more tweaking, more developing, more editing, more detail, whatever.  Sometimes, if I’d had more time, I would have realized that the whole essay is just crap — that is, the crap that can often productively precede a completely different essay, the one I really meant to write.

My too-late after-thoughts on this particular post have to do with self-justification — a notion that’s been echoing for me ever since I posted about Lorrie Moore earlier this week.

I wonder if SLOWness is a virtue or a flaw.  I like to talk and write about it as a virtue, and I think I really believe this; and yet, I also think that my own slowness in particular  feels more like a flaw, which conveniently gets self-justified as I laud slowness-in-general as a virtue.

Which is why I still like Moore’s quote about the creepily detached artist.  However reaching, it’s an effort to move from self-justification to simple self-acceptance.  It says, hey, look, I’m not very social, but I’m writing books, ok?

For me, it’s hey, look, I’m slow (and, um, also not very social); but I’m writing books, ok? 

Or, if you read the post at The Millions, at least trying to… 

The words of Jose Saramago, in the final post on his blog this week, will be my echo for the next few days:  “Goodbye therefore. Until another day? I sincerely don’t think so. I have started another book and want to dedicate all my time to it.”

3 September 2009

As of September, I have officially joined The Millions as a regular contributor.  

If you don’t already know it, The Millions is an excellent literary blog.  Founded by Max Magee in 2003 — one of the first, and one of the best of the lit-blogs, in my humble opinion — one might go as far as to consider it The New York Times of lit-blogs.   Which I suppose means different things to different people, but the quality I’m trying to convey with the analogy is its indispensability, in the universe of literary news, reviews, interviews, and book-topic explorations.   

The truth is that when I first began exploring literary blogs, I was overwhelmed.  There were so many, and I didn’t have either the wherewithal (those of you who read this blog regularly know that I am a person distinctly lacking in wherewithal) or the time to read 10 blogs regularly.  So I did the rounds for a little while, and The Millions clicked for me — the topics, the writers’ voices and insights, the wide range of reading tastes; it lacked the pretension and huber-hipness that sometimes turns one off from certain literary communes.  It did not seem so in love with its own smarty-pantsness, and yet, man, such smarty pants’s.    

So I started reading it regularly, and then eventually foisted myself upon Max Magee as a guest poster (gracious, clear-headed Max).  Five posts later, and here we are; literarily consummated.

You’ll find my posts there about twice a month.  I’ll post links here, and if you’re on Facebook, I’ll post there, too.  Come on by, tell your friends.

2 September 2009

Michiko Kakutani likes Lorrie Moore’s new book, A Gate at the Stairs, in whichMs. Moore grapples… with the precariousness of life and the irretrievable losses that accumulate over the years.”  I’m looking forward to reading it.

And I’ve had Lorrie Moorie on the brain.  A friend recently sent me the following Moore quote, from an interview in the September issue of Elle:

The detachment of the artist is kind of creepy. It’s kind of rude, and yet really it’s where art comes from. It’s not the same as courage. It’s closer to bad manners than to courage. [...] if you’re going to be a writer, you basically have to say, ‘This is just who I am…’ There’s a certain indefensibility about it. It’s not about loving your community and taking care of it; you’re not attached to the chamber of commerce. It’s a little unsafe. You have to be willing to have only four friends, not 11.

My friend thinks this quote is a bit self-justifying.  Maybe, but… is that a bad thing?  I read it as self-accepting.  I read it as realistic.  Maybe it’s one of those things that’s better left unsaid, but truth is often like that.  I think of these words from Susan Sontag:

Love the truth above wanting to be good.

There is a definite gender element to all this.  A man is less compelled to self-justify his detachment; a woman, I think, more likely feels that she needs to.

So thank you, Ms. Moore.

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