Book Bias

This post is being written in response to what one of my friends said to me about my previous post: "I can't believe you're like Oh this author is so great - then bring him up in the same entry as mentioning Stephen King. Do you know what that says? That says 'I'm a twit and I read crap.'

"And I know that's not true.

"Best not to mention SK if you wish to remain a reliable source of good books. Just between you and me."

Now, let's get one thing straight right off the bat: Is Stephen King an uber-great literary writer in my opinion? Not really. Is he one of the most important literary figures of the last thirty years? Absolutely. There's a reason he won last year's National Book Foundation medal for "Distinguished Contribution to American Letters." For those of you who don't know, this medal is given out by the same people who award the National Book Award every year. These people know their stuff as past winners such as Toni Morrison, Arthur Miller, and John Updike can attest. Sure, Stephen King never wrote any single novel on the level of some works by Morrison, Updike, Miller, or a few others, but his body of work is as a whole is of great merit.

His presenter, Walter Mosley, said it well:

Mr. King's novels are inhabited by people with everyday jobs and average bodies, people who have to try to find extraordinary strength when they've never been anything but ordinary. Stephen King once said that daily life is the frame that makes the picture. His commitment, as I see it, is to celebrate and empower the everyday man and woman as they buy aspirin and cope with cancer. He takes our daily lives and makes them into something heroic. He takes our world, validates our distrust of it and then helps us to see that there's a chance to transcend the muck. He tells us that even if we fail in our struggles, we are still worthy enough to pass on our energies in the survival of humanity.

Mr. King's phenomenal popularity is due to his almost instinctual understanding of the fears that form the psyche of America's working class. He knows fear. And not the fear of demonic forces alone but also of loneliness and poverty, of hunger and the unknown we have to breach in order to survive. We go with him to the Wal-Mart and to the mechanic who always charges $600 no matter why you went there. He shares with us the awesome reverence for life, that magical formula that not even the most arrogant scientist or cleric or critic would dare to define.

Tonight we honor Stephen King, our Everyman and our guide. Giving this award to him is also recognizing and celebrating the millions of readers who are transported, elated and given hope by his pedestrian heroes in a world where anything can and does happen.

For those whose sensibilities are too..."refined" for Mr. King, they either have not sufficiently read from his work, or they went into the reading with a predetermined opinion already in place which they had no intention of changing. Fact is, I admit to suffering from the same disease. I can honestly say that, if someone were to strongly recommend that I read a novel by Danielle Steele or Nora Roberts, I would laugh and freely poke holes in the novel as I went through as well. I have never read anything by them, but I have a preconceived notion that they are formula writers on no great significance from an artistic point of view. Hell, I may very well be wrong, though I don't want to risk trying them and being right—that would be more painful than being wrong. However, I'm not here to make an argument for them; they have yet to prove themselves to be capable of transcending their genres.

Stephen King, however, has transcended genre fiction. How many people view King's writing as genre and generally tasteless, yet applaud such surpassingly amazing films as The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile either not knowing the source of these stories or willfully ignoring the fact? Who can experience a story like those and say, "Well, there's more of that Stephen King horror crap." These movies are considered top-tier. Yes, they are well-made films. Yes, the acting is superb. However, none of that matters without the emotional, powerful, and gripping stories, written by King, from which these movies emanate. Yes, I realize I segued from literature to film, but it's to make this point: Stephen King is far more than a horror writer. He has transcended the niche in which he first started, much like Kurt Vonnegut had to do before him. However, some people seem intent on keeping his labels intact (whether from jealousy of his mass market success—see paragraph 2 in quote above for refutation—or from vain prejudgement) despite the proof that they can see with their own two eyes; he creates stories touching the human spirit and human transcendence on a level far superior to the credit he is given—even by some "experts."

If one wants to give King an honest-to-god try, then I recommend The Dead Zone, The Green Mile, or shorter works such as Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption and The Body. After that, read whatever tickles you. Admittedly, a lot of his work does descend into camp and pure genre writing (see: Tommyknockers and Christine for examples), but there are a few other intellectually stimulating works scattered throughout. Ultimately, I would suggest tackling what I consider his two most complex, deep, and rewarding works: The Stand and The Dark Tower series. Seriously, this guy knows how to write.

The main criticism I have of King is that he has a tendency to write to his audience. It was his appeal to the masses that made him such a success, and occasionally what comes through in his writing is a sense of his not wanting to offend his fan base. He has a tendency to to play down his profound and meaningful passages and moments. It's as if he's afaid that if he really emphasizes what he wants to say, that he'll push away his more casual readers. Hence, it isn't very obvious when he's trying to accomplish something literary. The meaning is there, but he makes you dig for it. He'd rather you put out the effort than he risks off-putting any readers.

Now, I'm not going into any critical arguments in this post (I'll include him in an essay I'll be writing in a few weeks), but cut the man some slack, people. I wouldn't be surprised if, in fifty years, King is a sort of Wilkie Collins of the 20^th century—a sort of lesser Dickens. Like Dickens and Collins, he's viewed as merely a successful popular writer in his own time, but Dickens and Collins only rose to the level of important literary figures (more like literary icon for Dickens) after their time. I think so will King. I can't honestly say I can see him being taught in school like Dickens, but hey, who knows? If Collins and Anthony Trollope can manage it, why not King? He may not be to Dickens' level, but he's better than the other two.

So It Goes

Unbelievable. I'll be out of debt for the first time in 2.5 years in about 16 days. I can actually start accumulating significant savings. Imagine that! I want to pull a Willaim Wallace and scream "FREEDOM!" at the top of my lungs once I write the last check that will put me back in the black.

Anyways, I get to have a restful weekend at home for the first time in a while. It'll be nice. I'll kick back and try to finish both The Interpretation of Dreams and Cloud Atlas. The latter would be easy if not for the first. (It's my habit to read one nonfiction and one fiction book at a time. I have to read a fifth of the nonfiction before I can read the next fifth of the fiction. It's a motivation thing.) It's odd. Freud's not that hard to read, I just find him so uninteresting that motivation is a serious problem. It's not often I say that about a book. When I do, you know it's serious. I mean, even Walden wasn't this boring. I flew through Discipline and Punish, Brave New World: Revisited, and The Communist Manifesto (other nonfiction books of the past month) by comparison.

However, despite Freud's inane babbling, I'll power through it if for no other reason than I am finding Cloud Atlas to be utterly fascinating. I'm definately going to have something to say about this book when I'm done. But then, I expect nothing different from Mitchell.

I was fascinated by Mitchell's playing with reality in Number9Dream, and Cloud Atlas expands on that theme (though it doesn't rely on it as heavily as Number9Dream does). I've got an idea for a semi-essay kicking around in my head that would actually span all three of Mitchell's novels (Ghostwritten to a lesser extent than the other two). I'm thinking the essay might also touch on Stephen King, Kurt Vonnegut, and David Markson (authors who know how to toy with reality) at different points also. It should be interesting. It might take some time to whip up, though.

For those of you who haven't read anything by David Mitchell, what are you waiting for?

No, seriously. Go to the book store.

Now!

The Rush of Endless Streaming Images

"Beckett is the last writer to shape the way we think and see. After him, the major work involves midair explosions and crumbled buildings. This is the new tragic narrative..."

I was thinking about 9/11 today and that quote popped into my head. It also had some bearing on what a friend said a few days ago about my reading habits being pretentious which, admittedly, offended me more than a direct insult would have.

But really, when I think about it, the art I enjoy the most basically boils down to what Don Delillo said in that quote. The art I like doesn't try to influence opinions or come off as profound (and thus generally pretentious). Rather, it is more interested in pointing out the exaggerations and absurdities of life where the more explosions there are in a film, the more it is enjoyed by the audience. At the same time, it is amazing how the fiction that is usually the most absurd is the fiction that is often imitated or at least reflected in real life.

One of Delillo's themes in Mao II (from whence I got that quote) is how imagery more and more tends to lose meaning and rather become the meaning. Before 9/11, the idea of a couple planes, flown by terrorists, levelling the world trade center would have sounded like a pretty cool idea for an action movie. Why? Because people don't think in terms of reality that often anymore. It sounds like fiction, therefor it would make for a good spectacle with no more concequence behind it than movie magic. In other words, the image of a plane killing thousands would only be seen for just that—an image with no meaning attached. It takes a horrific event on the scale of what happened on September 11th to shock people to their senses.

I can imagine the rebuttal that a movie is just a movie and no one is directly hurt by the images on the screen. I absolutely agree. Hell, I like action movies. My point is that, after 9/11, there were many movies that were cancelled, i.e., never, ever to be shown on account of the plotlines being far too close for comfort to the events that actually occurred. The public would call a movie that attempted, or at least appears to attempt (remembering the argument that we are becoming less and less inclined to look beyond appearances) to capitolize on 9/11 as dishonoring the dead. Yet, when terrorists nuke the Eastern Seaboard as in Sum of All Fears, the outcry is notably lacking. Undeniably, dropping a nuclear bomb is more guesome by far than blowing up the world trade center, but there once again is no meaning firmly attached to the image. I guess we'll just have to wait until someone follows through with nuking Washington DC before The Sum of All Fears becomes as grotesque as those movies we will never see. To me, it is absurd to draw that distiction simply because of the manner in which the terrorists actually did attack.

However, that is not to say I think such movies need to stop being made. Rather, I am of the opinion that what is fiction should be treated as fiction and consumed as such, regardless of its similarities to real world events. Yet, I also agree with Delillo that denying the meaning and implication of the imagery we are watching is a silly exercise.

Since I'm not trying to put out a fully fledged novel here, I do not care to dive back into the specifics of the novel, but it is a really cool and enjoyable book which has stayed in my thoughts for the last 8 months since I have read it. It is hard to have read it and not think about it in connection with 9/11 as it has a lot to do with terror as well as what I have described above. My other favorite passage:

"The way they [the terrorists] live in the shadows, live willingly with death. The way they hate many of the things you hate. Their discipline and cunning. The coherence of their lives. The way they excite, they excite admiration. In societies reduced to blur and glut, terror is the only meaningful act. There's too much of everything, more things and messages and meanings than we can use in ten thousand lifetimes. Inertia-hysteria. Is history possible? Is anyone serious? Who do we take seriously? Only the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith. Everything else is absorbed... Only the terrorist stands outside. The culture hasn't figured out how to assimilate him. It's confusing when they kill the innocent. But this is precisely the language of being noticed, the only language the West understands. The way they determine how we see them. The way they dominate the rush of endless streaming images."

One cannot deny the possible validity of what Delillo is getting at. Well, it's something I can leave you to chew on. I know I will be.

New and...Novel

I'm doubtful as to whether anyone will come across this blog at all, but I figure this is the place to start: I'm beginning an experiment, and I need suggestions of people's favorite books. However, since I'm looking for books outside of my normal comfort zone, I'm trying to avoid generally acknowledged classics and novels by favorite authors such as David Mitchell, Kurt Vonnegut, Don DeLillo, Jeanette Winterson, William Gibson, Chuck Palahniuk, Haruki Murakami, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Any other suggestions are welcome.

In the Beginning

I'm not much of a blogger. I have little interest in reading other people's blogs, and I have had even less interest in having one of my own up until now. Why the sudden change? I don't know. I suppose I simply decided it was time to start writing again. I don't know what that entails, nor do I know what I want to write. However, I don't think that is really the point. Why not write about my interests, whatever they may be at the time?

What I decided I needed was a place where I could write any time, about any thing without considering what I have written before and what I might write next. Hence, a blog seems like the logical format.

Don't get me wrong, certain themes and topics will most likely dominate this space, I just don't want to restrict myself to that. I suppose there are other forums in which I could have the same type of freedom (LiveJornal comes to mind), but for some reason this just seems like the right place to throw out less every-day-life crap and more essay-type pieces. That's really what I need to practice.

Any preview of what I expect to post in this space must start with my primary interests: writing and reading. Being a reading fanatic, I will most likely throw up an occasional review of a book I either loved or hated, a critical essay about some aspect of what I'm reading that intersests me at the moment, a blurb or two about book news, and any general complaints I have on related topics.

In addition to literary themes, I may occasionally talk movies, music or whatever other cultural nonsense may be gripping my attention on any given day. If anyone does ever end up reading any of this, they will probably quickly get a sense of my tastes in all these categories as well as a snapshot of my life outside of the realms these pursuits provide.

In any event, it'll be a journey. To where? I don't know, but I'll be sure speak up when I get there.