The Poet as Bohemian

"Bohemian Rhapsodies," a little thing I wrote about Roberto Bolaño and Jules Laforgue, has been out in print for a while but is now available online, too.  It starts like this:

Bohemia, that mythical land of outsiders, rebels, malcontents, slum- ming rich kids, and rent-grubbing scam artists, spreads its porous boundaries wide in both space and time, extending from Montparnasse to Green- wich Village to North Beach, from Thomas DeQuincey’s opium den to Barney Rosset’s office at Grove Press in the sixties, to a grimy gallery in a neighborhood too newly annexed to the Bohemian empire for the likes of us to know about it. Bohemia is often seen as a kind of effortless Arcadia, a patchouli-and-pot-smoke saturated world of laughter and lotus eating. But in two recent translations of books by Jules Laforgue and Roberto Bolaño, both of whose bohemian credentials are beyond reproach, we see something else entirely. In Laforgue’s case we see a struggle to overcome some of the habitual attitudes of the bohemian poet; and in Bolaño’s, a long struggle to endure the kind of alienation that drives the bohemian away from mainstream society.

You can find the whole thing here.

Seeing Red: The Poet Resigns

I'm almost done (for the time being) with the shameless plugging of my forthcoming book The Poet Resigns, due out in the spring.  But before I lay off the blowing of my own horn, here's a new version of the cover, in red, and another jacket blurb, this one from Kevin Prufer:

Archambeau offers brilliant discussions of the complex intersections of poetry, politics, literary criticism, academia, and the movements that have influenced the direction of the art.  His treatment of the problematic position poetry holds among the American public is by far the most thoughtful I have read. There is much to admire in this book, but what I think most highly of is Archambeau's ability to survey the fields of poetry, poetry criticism, and politics with such amazing breadth and detail, as if he is able to see them simultaneously from a great distance and up close, offering arguments that are both ambitiously sweeping and precise.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to weep for my sabbatical, which officially expires in three days.  May it rest in peace.

Author Robin Murphy Talks About How to Write a Book Series?

Today we’re talking to 2-time author Robin Murphy about how she planned and is
executing her new book series. Robin is the author of Sullivan’s Secret and the saga, Secret of the Big Easy. Robin’s website can be seen at www.robinmurphyauthor.com.

Carol Denbow: Robin, I really enjoyed Sullivan’s Secret and am looking forward to reading your newest book, Secret of the Big Easy. It must be hard to write a series of connecting books. Can you please start by telling us if when you first dreamed up Sullivan’s Secret, did you plan on a continuing saga for the book?

Robin Murphy: Hello Carol, thank you for having me here today. I will admit I didn’t decide that in the beginning of Sullivan’s Secret. I think it came to me when I realized there was so much more to tell about Marie and the SIPS team and at the end of the first book, I needed to have the characters continue on.

Carol Denbow: For a book series, do you think breaking up a complete story into segments and finding a cut-off point to start a new book would be best, or wrapping one up and then dreaming up a new “similar” storyline for the next book (similar to yours)?

Robin Murphy: As a reader I like to have a finale that leaves a hint of another story to be told. So I pulled that theory into my writing. I wanted to satisfy the reader in Sullivan’s Secret, but left it linger enough to hint there was more to come. It was natural to carry the similar storyline into Secret of the Big Easy but added a new setting, plot, and some interesting new characters.

Carol Denbow: I recall that for your first book, you traveled around to find a location to base your story from. Did you do the same for Secret of the Big Easy?

Robin Murphy: Yes I did. My husband and I took a trip to the French Quarter in New Orleans. Some of the story was already written so it was fun to have dinner at a restaurant that was mentioned in my book. I felt as if I had literally stepped into my book which helped me bring every sight, scent, and sound from N’awlins into the story.

Carol Denbow: Do you have plans to continue on with a third book?

Robin Murphy: Yes, I do. This story is going to take place in Washington, DC and explore more spirits, ghost investigations, a little dab of politics, and of course…murder.

Carol Denbow: In your opinion, how many books in a series are reasonable before a reader might “lose interest” in that story and you need to start something new?

Robin Murphy: That’s the age old question and I’ve asked myself that many times. I think it’ll be when I’m possibly tired of writing the series. It’s very clear if my writing feels flat or stale it’s going to come across to a reader. Readers are intelligent and they want to read great stories.

Carol Denbow: Writers speak about a fiction book having a beginning, the central story, and an ending. When writing a series, do you still focus on that, or is there a different recipe for writing?

Robin Murphy: I can’t speak for other writers, but for me, as I said earlier, I like to have a finale. So I incorporate those elements, but at the end leave that hint of there being more in the next book.

Carol Denbow: How long should a writer pause before releasing a new book in the series?

Robin Murphy: I don’t know if there’s a definitive answer for that. If you have an agent or a traditional publisher there may be deadlines you need to meet. Some say you don’t want to wait more than a year so the reader doesn’t forget about you or the story. For me, it was just a year since my first book was published and with working full time, that’s about all I can produce without losing my joy for writing.

Carol Denbow: Did you start working on the newest book immediately after publishing the first one, or was it already “in the works?”

Robin Murphy: I already had the ideas floating around in my head and jotting them in my journal while the first book was being published. I need to write, it doesn’t stop for me, so it continues on with lulls here and there…depending on what’s going on in my life, lol.

Carol Denbow: What advice would you give a new writer who is entertaining the idea of writing a book series?

Robin Murphy: You really need to be sure you have enough of a storyline to carry through for a series. A few tips I can offer are to be sure to bring enough back-story into the next book, but not too much as to bore the reader. It’s a bit of a fine line, but you can incorporate back-story through dialogue instead of having a detailed paragraph. I would also advise to keep notes on everything because you will inherently be re-using descriptions of characters and/or places, and you certainly don’t want to confuse the reader because you’ll lose them in a heartbeat. But one important key is to have each book worthy to stand alone. I received a great review from a reader stating that when she read Secret of the Big Easy she had enough back-story to understand the book and couldn’t wait to go back and read Sullivan’s Secret.

Carol Denbow: Robin, as always, it’s been a pleasure and we thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to chat with us today. Do you have anything you would like to add in closing?

Robin Murphy: Thank you Carol, as always it’s been fun. For writers, just have fun with your writing and don’t let anyone steal your joy. For readers, if you love paranormal mysteries go out and purchase Sullivan’s Secret and then Secret of the Big Easy. You won’t be disappointed.

Robin Murphy’s books can be found at all the usual places and on her website at www.robinmurphyauthor.com.

The Blurbs Are In: The Back Cover of "The Poet Resigns"

After a gathering of scholarly intensity of a kind not seen since the Second Vatican Council, my publisher has approved the jacket and catalog copy for The Poet Resigns: Poetry in a Difficult World.  Here's what you'll find on the back cover, along with the least unflattering photo of me we can muster:

Robert Archambeau's book, The Poet Resigns: Poetry in a Difficult World, is a fascinating study of what it means to practice the art in a new century. Archambeau is a wise and honest writer in assessing the pitfalls of poetry, and the shifting nature of the poet's role as public intellectual or private mutterer in the larger, noisier culture that has never really privileged poetry to the extent that the myth and history of its privilege purports. His personal touch and winning tone make the book suitable to those who favor a rich and friendly discussion of the social and cultural implications, and possible obligations, of poetry in our age. —Maxine Chernoff

"Archambeau is one of our smartest poetic sociologists, and he tackles the biggest problem facing poetry in our time: the dwindling of its audience and the growing divide between poets and a mainstream literary readership." —Norman Finkelstein, Contemporary Literature 

“If you want to see somebody having fun while thinking provocatively about contemporary poetry, try Archambeau: I always do.” —Stephen Burt

And here's the official description of the book: 

What are we really wishing for when we want poetry to have the prominence it had in the past?  Why do American poets overwhelmingly identify with the political left?  How do poems communicate? Is there an essential link between formal experimentation and political radicalism? What happens when poetic outsiders become academic insiders? Just what makes a poem a poem?  If a poet gives up on her art, what reasons could she find for coming back to poetry? These are the large questions animating the essays of The Poet Resigns: Essays on Poetry in a Difficult Time, a book that sets out to survey not only the state of contemporary poetry, but the poet’s relationship to politics, society, and literary criticism.

In addition to pursuing these topics, The Poet Resigns peers into the role of the critic and the manifesto, the nature of wit, the poetics of play, and the persistence of modernism, while providing detailed readings of poets as diverse as Harryette Mullen and Yvor Winters, George Oppen and Robert Pinsky, C.S. Giscombe and Pablo Neruda.  Behind it all is a sense of poetry not just as an academic area of study, but as a lived experience and a way of understanding.  Few books of poetry criticism show such range — yet the core questions remain clear: what is this thing we love and call ‘poetry,’ and what is its consequence in the world?

T.S.Eliot, Social Class, and Anti-Semitism

I've been working on a chapter about T.S. Eliot for a book whose current working title is Poetry, Autonomy, Society, and I've been trying to think of a way of addressing Eliot's very real, entirely inescapable anti-Semitism.  On the one hand, I don't want it to become the main focus of the chapter, since the book is about the idea of aesthetic autonomy.  On the other hand, I don't want to act like Eliot's anti-Semitism didn't exist, or didn't matter, or didn't play an important role in his poetry and his social writings.

One line of argument I'm making in the chapter is that Eliot's early interest in aesthetic autonomy comes from his break with his own social class' moralism.  That is: he comes from a long line of people who formed a social elite in Boston, and in various communities where Bostonians settled, as in his native St. Louis.  The Bostonian elite believed in a very paternalistic kind of civic-mindedness.   They were not firm believers in popular, bottom-up democracy—but they thought elites should be good stewards of the community, and they often lavished funds on hospitals, churches, schools, and charities of all sorts, and were wary of excessive avarice and of financial speculation.  

Beginning in the years after the Civil War, they began to be displaced by a newer and more overtly materialistic elite, often politically corrupt (this new elite was overwhelmingly made up of gentiles, both Protestant and Catholic).  The decline of their class accelerated right around the time Eliot was born in 1888.  And when their power fades and their old ideal of stewardship is no longer relevant to their new circumstances, Eliot turns his back on the moralistic aesthetic associated with his class—think of the poetry of John Greenleaf Whittier, or of James Russell Lowell, both with family connections to the Eliots—and writes less overtly moralistic poetry, as well as poetry that satirizes the old elite's rectitude and reserve. Think "Portrait of a Lady" or "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" — though there's more to both poems than a rejection of overt moralism and the ethos of the Boston elite.

So, since I'm already discussing Eliot's class circumstances as a way of explaining some of his aesthetic choices, I want to take this as an opportunity to discuss his anti-Semitism, especially since Eliot's prejudice isn't just a personal quirk: it's part and parcel of the outlook of his class.  Which is not to say that they were the only American anti-Semites, but their anti-Semitism took a particular form.  That is: the decline of the old elite happened to coincide with the arrival of numbers of Jewish immigrants, many of whom prospered in American conditions.  Always an easy target for those with axes to grind about their position in society, these immigrants bore much of the brunt of Eliot's class' resentment about their own loss of status.

Many among the old elite believed that scruple, gentlemanly habit, and class-based reservations hampering them in their attempts to retain privileged positions.  There is certainly some truth with regard to their loss of political power in cities like New York and St. Louis, where political bosses like William Magear "Boss" Tweed and Edward "Colonel Ed" Butler used tactics anathema to the well-bred gentleman to secure power, and it may have had some truth in the economic sphere, where fortunes like those of the Carnegies and Rockefellers (new money men, not members of the old elite) were built with a ruthlessness the old elite had never known.

But along with disdain for the new political and economic elite—both overwhelmingly Christian—came an anti-Semitism, drawing on longstanding bigotry and the coincidence of the arrival of Jewish immigrants with the decline of the old elite.  That is, a measure of the anti-Semitism endemic to Eliot and his class may be traced to their notion that their genteel ideals put them at a disadvantage vis-à-vis the Jewish immigrants who were arriving in America and often thriving in an environment that did not restrict their actions to the degree that many European countries had.  No less a Brahmin than Henry Adams, thinking of the man of the old class, wrote:

Not a Polish Jew fresh from Warsaw or Cracow—not a furtive Yacoob or Ysaac still reeking of the Ghetto, snarling a weird Yiddish to the officers of the customs—but had a keener instinct, an intenser energy, and a freer hand than he—American of Americans, with Heaven knew how many Puritans and Patriots behind him… 

The old elite’s sense of displacement, coinciding with the arrival and success of Jewish immigrants, in no way excuses the anti-Semitism of “Gerontion” or After Strange Gods, although it might be said to provide an explanatory context: Eliot’s bigotries were those of his class in a particular phase of its decline.

The Poet Resigns: Early Notice

This is the cover of a book of my essays, due out in a few months as part of the series in Contemporary Poetics from the University of Akron Press.

It will include essays on the situation of poetry in the marketplace, poetry and politics, the real or imagined link between avant-garde aesthetics and left-wing politics, Cambridge school poetry, the post-avant, poetry and power, the question of whether poems can communicate, the attitude of language poets to academe, the New Criticism, the definition of poetry, avant-gardism in critical writing, the meaning of the manifesto, the decadence of the nationalist tradition in Irish poetry, and the state of American poetry.  There will also be essays on individual poets: Reginald Shepherd, Harryette Mullen, C.S. Giscombe, Yvor Winters, James McMichael, John Matthias, Pablo Neruda, Michael Anania, George Oppen, Robert Kroetsch, and Rimbaud.  It ends with a couple of more personal essays about what poetry has meant to me over the course of a life of reading, writing, writing about, and living with the stuff.

It should weigh in at around 300 pages, and will make a great gift for weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, bar or bat mitzvahs, religious holidays in all faiths, and for that most important of Canadian holidays, Bigfoot's birthday.

I'm currently trying to find a photo of myself in which my head looks neither like a giant pinkish egg nor a demonically grinning bearded demon effigy for use on the back cover.  Success has thus far been limited.

The Creative Writing Seminar: A Factual Parable

Bill Berkson, John Ashbery, Frank O'Hara, Kenneth Koch

I was on the phone today with one of my great mentors, Michael Anania, talking about poets as academics, and was regaled with the following anecdote about Delmore Schwartz:

Schwartz was teaching a graduate poetry writing seminar, and asked the small gathering of students how many of them thought they would go on to become great poets.  Every one of them raised a hand.

"Ha!" said Schwartz.  "If more than two or three great poets were alive at any one time, it would count as a renaissance!"

The students in the seminar were John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, Robert Creeley, Robert Bly, and Frank O'Hara.

Four out of five ain't bad.

UPDATE AUGUST 19: Opinions on the factual nature of this anecdote vary: see especially Andrew Epstein's convincing note about what probably really happened in the comments stream below.  Also, I'll take the rap for any garbling of the anecdote -- listening on a sketchy cell connection while trying to keep a three year old from smashing things introduces an element of surrealist distortion to most narratives!

What 50 Famous Authors Want Us to Know About the Writing Process

1. “…a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” -Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
Honestly, this advice could apply to authors across the gender and gender-identity spectrum. But when Virginia Woolf published her seminal book-length essay, it stood as a strong feminist statement empowering fiction-writing women who wanted to succeed despite the odds.

2. “If we can’t understand it, then it’s formidable. And we understand very little. We don’t understand the weak nuclear force, galaxy formation … so one should be humble.” – Martin Amis, interview with Prospect, Feb. 1, 2010
The London Fields author considers his closed-minded and rigid peers, particularly those with absolute opinions regarding religion, “crabbed.” He advises a more all-embracing outlook and enough self-awareness and humility to admit that you might not always get your facts right.

3. “I’m not advocating disobedience to authority in general — because that doesn’t necessarily lead to anything — but knowing the difference between your own intelligence and somebody handing you a set of things you should believe. It’s important to understand their motivations, their intentions, where those beliefs derive from and then having a set of questions to make sure that what they give to you is equally important and meaningful to you.” – Amy Tan, interview with Academy of Achievement, June 28, 1996
Rebellion and questioning propels literature and other creative pursuits, but they ultimately yield empty results when only posed for posing’s sake. Bestselling brain behind The Joy Luck Club Amy Tan believes the best writers know how to make the distinction between genuine establishment challenging and its more self-congratulating counterpart.

4. “The artist is distinguished from all other responsible actors in society — the politicians, legislators, educators, and scientists — by the fact that he is his own test tube, his own laboratory, working according to very rigorous rules, however unstated these may be, and cannot allow any consideration to supersede his responsibility to reveal all that he can possibly discover concerning the mystery of the human being. Society must accept some things as real; but he must always know that visible reality hides a deeper one, and that all our action and achievement rest on things unseen.” – James Baldwin, “The Creative Process,” Creative America
Both artists and writers, according to the celebrated author behind the revealing Go Tell It on the Mountain, are responsible for serving as mouthpieces for social commentary. Without them, the insight necessary for change cannot take place.

5. “It never gets easier; it’s always hard, it’s always a test. I’ve reached a point in my life where if a sentence seems easy, I distrust it.” – Amitav Gosh, The Wall Street Journal, November 13, 2009
Acclaimed authors always seem to make the whole penning and publishing thing seem effortless, but in reality the process is painfully, sometimes cripplingly, grueling. Amitav Gosh of The Glass Palace and Sea of Poppies fame thinks readers and writers should realize just how grueling the literary arts can be — and that they’re really in for a nasty shock if they think hammering out manuscripts will get better with experience.

6. “The scariest moment is always just before you start.” – Stephen King, On Writing
Quite possibly the most intense anxiety an author in any medium, any genre will face is his or her own anxiety about launching a brand new project.

7. “… I kind of look around and see what’s going on and take it a few steps further.” – Octavia Butler, “‘Devil Girl From Mars’: Why I Write Science Fiction”
One of the most groundbreaking writers in the science fiction genre considers an openness to education (formal or not) and the ability to synthesize ideas from real-life scenarios essential to the creative process. This advice quite obviously transcends the science fiction and fantasy genres.

8. “Out of the neglected riches of this dream the poet fetches his wares. He dips into the chaos that underlies the rational shell of the world and brings up some superfluous image, some emotion dropped by the way, and reattaches it to the present object; he reinstates things unnecessary, he emphasizes things ignored, be paints in again into the landscape the tints which the intellect has allowed to fade from it. If he seems sometimes to obscure a fact, it is only because he is restoring an experience.” – George Santayana, “The Elements and Function of Poetry”
Poetic types will no doubt find this lyrical distillation of their craft an at once romantic and realistic depiction — and one they might very well find inspiring when the words just don’t seem to properly flow.

9. “Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.” – Kurt Vonnegut, “8 Rules for Writing Fiction,” Bagombo Snuff Box
All of Kurt Vonnegut’s straightforward bits of writerly advice offer something to the reader, but they obviously lean more towards the fictitious end. His very first tip, however, applies to pretty much every medium and genre out there.

10. “I think the philosophy training, four years of reading really dense, difficult things, where the statements, the information packed within these words is not so obviously stated, but it’s available if you know how to dissect it…that’s been very useful in doing the type of comedy that I find myself doing and doing the type of writing that I find myself doing, which is reinterpreting the world and restating some things that people may be loosely aware of but with your own additional twist and perspective and joke.” - Baratunde Thurston, interview with Stay Out of School, April 18, 2011
What makes comedian, political commentator, and of course writer Baratunde Thurston so piquant doesn’t exclusively come from a terrifically enjoyable philosophy class. But it still led him to realize that the most effective works come when tweaking and perceiving the world in some interesting, insightful new ways.

11. “Writing fiction is like being a god.” – Sharnush Parsipur, interview with Pars Arts, Jan. 2, 2008
God complexes are never not gauche, but this controversial Iranian author certainly makes a point about the role fiction writers play in their own imagined worlds. Just keep the deity play to the page and not real life.

12. “If you try hard to listen, to like them, to love them, then their stories become interesting. Everyone has his own story.” – Haruki Murakami, University of California at Berkeley, Oct.10, 2008
Despite stemming from a discussion of the nonfiction work Underground, this soundbite from one of the world’s preeminent postmodernists encourages writers to pay close attention to the people around them; they just might inspire all kinds of interesting tales.

13. “I mean, if I’m not writing for the audience, if I’m not writing to make it easier for them, then who the hell am I doing it for? And the way you make it easier is by following those tenets: cutting, building to a climax, leaving out exposition, and always progressing toward the single goal of the protagonist. They’re very stringent rules, but they are, in my estimation and experience, what makes it easier for the audience.” – David Mamet, interview with The Art of Theater, Spring 1997
Whether whipping up plays, screenplays, or something else entirely, writers should always keep asking themselves what they want readers and viewers to carry away from their works.

14. “I like a certain amount of randomness. The truth, in my opinion, is unavoidably strange.” – Zadie Smith, Tufts University, March 27, 2012
All of Zadie Smith’s novels, from White Teeth to On Beauty, stay firmly grounded in reality. She doesn’t feel the need to include anything fantastic, as she thinks the world as we know it is crammed with enough oddities.

15. “You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again…When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love.” – Ernest Hemingway, interview with The Paris Review, Spring 1958
This famous discussion with one of America’s most beloved writers yielded numerous points of advice for aspirant authors. One of the more useful snippets warns against using up too much creativity and ideas in a single sitting.

16. “And though the rewriting — and the rereading — sound like effort, they are actually the most pleasurable parts of writing. Sometimes the only pleasurable parts. Setting out to write, if you have the idea of ‘literature’ in your head, is formidable, intimidating. A plunge in an icy lake. Then comes the warm part: when you already have something to work with, upgrade, edit.” – Susan Sontag, “Directions: Write, Read, Rewrite. Repeat Steps 2 and 3 as Needed.” The New York Times, Dec. 18, 2000
Reframing the often nerve-shattering process of editing manuscripts and pieces as a wholly refreshing — even invigorating — necessity certainly makes it far more palatable! Keep Susan Sontag’s words in mind when painstakingly changing your work starts growing a little too overwhelming.

17. “… what I have read is far more important than what I have written. For one reads what one likes — yet one writes not what one would like to write but what one is able to write.” – Jorge Luis Borges, This Craft of Verse
Long-standing writing advice posits reading as a fundamental activity for anyone hoping to see their work land on the shelves, and one of the most celebrated Argentine writers of all time eloquently summarizes why.

18. “Be ambitious for the work and not for the reward.” – Jeanette Winterson, “Ten Rules for Writing Fiction.” The Guardian, Feb. 19, 2010
Don’t jump into a writing project expecting to wind up on bestseller lists and showering in Pulitzers and Bookers and Nobels. Write because you have something to say and want to share with the world; you’ll be a whole lot happier keeping that in mind as the end.

19. “Keep human! See people; go places, drink if you feel like it.” – Henry Miller, Henry Miller on Writing
Work hard, but don’t allow it to completely swallow up your entire existence. Considering how notoriously difficult creative industries are to break into, getting entirely lost in a project proves far too easy sometimes.

20. “Most writers have certain things that they decide quite consciously, and other things they decide less consciously. In my case, the choice of narrator and setting are deliberate. You do have to choose a setting with great care, because with a setting come all kinds of emotional and historical reverberations. But I leave quite a large area for improvisation after that.” – Kazuo Ishiguro, interview with The Paris Review, Spring 2008
The details may change, but most writers’ processes typically follow the structure Never Let Me Go and The Remains of the Day author Kazuo Ishiguro outlines and subsequently illustrates, using himself as an example.

21. “As for writing, most people secretly believe they themselves have a book in them, which they would write if they could only find the time. And there’s some truth to this notion. A lot of people do have a book in them — that is, they have had an experience that other people might want to read about. But this is not the same thing as ‘being a writer.’ Or, to put it in a more sinister way: everyone can dig a hole in a cemetery, but not everyone is a grave-digger.” – Margaret Atwood, Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing
In keeping with the importance of humility, wannabe writers need to know their limits — some might just not work out in a commercial or literary sense, and they have to face that possibility and try anyways. Alternately, this quote makes an excellent rebuttal when your parents start complaining (and if they aren’t complaining, they’re thinking about complaining) about how you shouldn’t even bother because the industry is flooded with others just like you.

22. “i. Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.ii. Never use a long word where a short one will do.iii. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
iv. Never use the passive where you can use the active.
v. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
vi. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.”
- George Orwell, “Politics and the English Language”
Like all of the arts, writing’s core tenets are often far more flexible than composition teachers will admit without a few drinks in them. No less than George Orwell himself stuck to this tenet when crafting classics such as Animal Farm and 1984.

23. “… the rhythm thing is important, that you have to just get into the rhythm of it and not get out of it. Because you can’t just jump back in — it will take you several days if you break the stride.” – Salman Rushdie, interview with About.com, March 3, 2009
Every writer’s rhythm differs, but the consequences of letting it fall away remain pretty much the same across the board. Try to work in an environment conducive to keeping up the pace as long as possible.

24. “As a teacher I realize that what one learns in school doesn’t serve for very much at all, that the only thing one can really learn is self understanding and this is something that can’t be taught.” – Laura Esquivel, interview with Salon, Oct. 4, 1996
Through novels such as Like Water for Chocolate and The Law of Love, Laura Esquivel hopes her readers will learn a little something about the tenderer emotions out there and slough off “social rules that do not pertain to them.”

25. “I perceived that to express those impressions, to write that essential book, which is the only true one, a great writer does not, in the current meaning of the word, invent it, but, since it exists already in each one of us, interprets it. The duty and the task of a writer are those of an interpreter.” – attributed to Marcel Proust
Michelangelo often considered his lush sculptures as already sitting inside blocks of marble — all he had to do was free them from their rocky prisons. Centuries later, the reclusive, celebrated author of In Search of Lost Time is said something similar about the art of novel writing.

26. “The successful novel, on the other hand, has a shape much like a bell. We begin at the top of the bell, its tight curve. Every detail has purpose here: the way a woman tilts her head, the slant of light as one exits the subway, the repetition of a phrase. As soon as we have gained our bearings, we notice things beginning to open up, flaring outward the way a bell does.” – Chitra Divakaruni, “New Insights Into the Novel? Try Reading 300.” The New York Times, Feb. 12, 2001
After downing 300 books while sitting on the National Book Awards judging committee, poet and novelist Chitra Divakaruni took painstaking notes on what makes a great read great. Keeping this particular form in mind might help current and future writers better plan their literary output.

27. “… in all my books, [every single line] has a starting point in reality. I provide a magnifying glass so readers can understand reality better.” – Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Conversations with Gabriel Garcia Marquez, ed. Gene H. Bell-Villada
Regardless of whether or not a writer hopes to utilize this Nobel recipient’s signature magic realist style, he or she might benefit immensely from keeping with his advice about staying grounded in familiar concepts. Giving readers something to relate to maintains their interest and attention.

28. “I try to change my superstitions with each project. Working in fountain pen is good because it slows me down just enough to keep my handwriting legible. Often I use two pens with different coloured ink, so I can tell visually how much I did each day.” – Neil Gaiman, interview with Time Out London, Oct. 5, 2006
Sometimes, even established writers like to experiment and mix things up in their own writing processes — so never fear experimenting with new strategies!

29. “If something is on my mind, writing-wise, I have do it and do it in the instant. I have to at least put down a first draft. Otherwise, I am so afraid I will lose it … Writing is also the way I process things and when I am done with a piece I feel a lot closer to understanding the subject.” – Edwidge Dandicat, “Junot Diaz.” BOMB, Fall 2007
Ideas almost always prove so fleeting and immediate that writing them down as soon as they materialize is a very popular bit of advice.

30. “Still, in the very fact that people will recognize me wherever I go, and know all about my life, as far as its follies go, I can discern something good for me. It will force on me the necessity of again asserting myself as an artist, and as soon as I possibly can. If I can produce only one beautiful work of art I shall be able to rob malice of its venom, and cowardice of its sneer, and to pluck out the tongue of scorn by the roots.” – Oscar Wilde, “De Profundis”
The great Irish wit had plenty of to say of writing (and pretty much everything else) but his essay-length letter from his stint in Reading Gaol reflected a renewed sense of urgency. He considered success a way to take revenge on his critics and a way to refresh himself after incarceration.

31. “Much of contemporary art today is about branding. You see this a lot in visual art, where the painter will create many works of art that look the same. It’s because they know that kind of work sells. In fiction you see this happening a lot as well. But that can be a death trap for writers, just putting out what they think readers want to read. I could never do that. I need to make sure I’m always engaging my reader as well as engaging myself with new material. Think of it this way. My kids want candy for breakfast, but I know it’s not good for them, so I don’t give it to them. When I write, I know I have to write for a reader, but it’s important for any writer to also write for themselves. Will I write about some of the same themes? Sure, but I won’t do it in the same way.” – Mat Johnson, interview with TINGE Magazine, Spring 2011
Never fear repeating concepts, but make sure to tweak them each appearance to make them fresher and offer up a different perspective. And, of course, make sure to do so in a manner that pleases you in addition to your audience; many writers do not find pandering a satisfactory strategy.

32. “I would say that the main favor I ask of the serious critic is sufficient perceptiveness to understand that whatever term or trope I use, my purpose is not to be facetiously flashy or grotesquely obscure but to express what I feel and think with the utmost truthfulness and perception.” – Vladimir Nabokov, interview with The New York Times, April 23, 1971
For the Pale Fire, Lolita, and Pnin scribe, veracity reigned as far more important than ostentatiousness and shock tactics common to far too many writers. Strive for authenticity and honesty in your work. The words will probably flow easier that way, too!

33. “Quality is always more important than quantity. This is true for everything. Even if you write only one line in your life, if it stays in someone’s mind forever, it is satisfactory.” – Banana Yoshimoto, interview with Bookslut, August 2005
We so often mistake prolificacy and verbosity as indicative of talent, so it’s important to always keep this age-old maxim of simplicity and conservation in mind when starting a new literary project.

34. “Delay is natural to a writer. He is like a surfer — he bides his time, waits for the perfect wave on which to ride in. Delay is instinctive with him. He waits for the surge (of emotion? of strength? of courage?) that will carry him along.” – E.B. White, interview with The Paris Review, Fall 1969
Yes, you’re going to experience your lazy moments when you’d rather be “straightening pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor” than sitting down to that poem, essay, novel, short story, or play. Don’t let minor distractions completely override productivity, but don’t chastise yourself when they happen, either.

35. “At the end of the day I feel like the office should be a battlefield with my blood splashed across the keyboard, dripping from the monitor.” – Laurell K. Hamilton, “Bleeding on my Keyboard”
Like a method actress, Laurell K. Hamilton of Anita Blake fame throws a piece of herself into every one of her popular protagonist’s adventures. Not every writer will necessarily forge this deep empathic connection with their characters, which isn’t a good or bad thing, but rather a matter of personal preference — although those who do should know they aren’t alone.

36. “… I still remember the exact moment when I first understood, with a sudden clarity, the purpose of a paragraph. I didn’t have the vocabulary to say ‘paragraph,’ but I realized that a paragraph was a fence that held words. The words inside a paragraph worked together for a common purpose. They had some specific reason for being inside the same fence. This knowledge delighted me.” – Sherman Alexie, “Superman and Me.” The Most Wonderful Books: Writers on Discovering the Pleasures of Reading, ed. Michael Dorris
Reading and writing come inextricably intertwined, and harkening back to the magic and wonder of experiencing words for the very first time might prove a fertile starting point when seeking inspiration.

37. “I don’t have any theory of rhetoric, but what I have in the back of my mind is that one should not try to persuade; rather, you should try to layout the territory as best you can so that other people can use their own intellectual powers to work out for themselves what they think is right or wrong. For example, I try, particularly in political writing, to make it extremely clear in advance exactly where I stand. In my view, the idea of neutral objectivity is largely fraudulent.” – Noam Chomsky, “Language, Politics, and Composition.” Interview in Journal of Advanced Composition, 1991
Never talk down to your audience, in other words, and don’t use political writing as persuasive writing. Assume nonfiction readers are smart enough to glean your meaning and be straightforward about your beliefs so they don’t assume you’re trying to subtly brainwash them.

38. “Different books arrive in different ways and require different strategies. Most of the books that I have written have been questions that I can’t answer. In order to actually put down the first word — I don’t really have a plan — I sometimes have a character, but I can’t do anything with it until the language arrives.” – Toni Morrison, interview in Time, May 7, 2008
Practice flexibility in your writing process, as rigidity might hinder progress; going with what feels natural earned Toni Morrison both a Pulitzer and a Nobel Prize in Literature, after all.

39. “The point is getting it all down, even if it’s crap or incomprehensible to anyone but you, so you can see it outside your own head. And then you can start adding to it. Expanding it, putting new layers on it, winding a new plotline around it, moving bits of it around. Just get it down.” – Warren Ellis, “Rough Work”
Editing exists for a reason. What matters more than immediate coherence is making sure ideas hit the paper or screen as quickly as possible.

40. “This me that is you, for I cannot bear to be simply me, I need others in order to stand up, giddy and awkward as I am, for what can one do except meditate in order to plunge into that total void which can only be attained through meditation…What troubles my existence is writing.” – Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star
In the preface to one of her most well-received modernist novels, Clarice Lispector attributed her literary success to the classical composers whose music placed her in the calm, reflective state necessary to get writing done. Plenty of writers, famous and nonfamous, find this technique an absolute essential.

41. “I never could get too much out of classes except discipline. I had to have papers in on time, but with my fiction, I just sort of did it. I couldn’t just change one section because then the whole thing would unravel.” – Leslie Marmon Silko, “Stories and Their Tellers – A Conversation with Leslie Marmon Silko.” The Third Woman: Minority Women Writers of the United States, ed. Dexter Fisher. Reprinted in Conversations with Leslie Marmon Silko, ed. Ellen L. Arnold
You don’t have to major in English or creative writing in order to pen and publish great literary works. Just get your ideas out there and weave together intricate stories from them, which each word building off the ones that came before.

42. “Even if I work very little, I work every day. It’s not work: it’s a style of life.” – Marjane Satrapi, interview with The Telegraph, Dec. 12, 2004
Make writing part of your daily routine and, over time, it’ll become easier and easier to sit down and get productive.

43. “Good writers are often amazing actors, I think, because they’re very good at dialogue … One good way for — and I always tell this to my students — is to read it out loud after you’ve written something.” – Gary Shteyngart, interview with NY1.com, Aug. 30, 2010
Many a famous and obscure writer consider reading out loud an excellent way to check for flow as well as spelling and punctuation errors. For even more input, wrangle in a trusted friend to help out.

44. “And the nice thing about writing a novel is you take your time, you sit with the character sometimes nine years, you look very deeply at a situation, unlike in real life when we just kind of snap something out. And it allowed me to be more generous than me the person. The author is always much more compassionate than Sandra Cisneros the human being.” – Sandra Cisneros, interview with News Hour with Jim Lehrer, Oct. 15, 2002
Poet and novelist Sandra Cisneros explains how her writing process nurtures far more empathy for characters than she experiences in real life. She believes this phenomenon results from being able to chew over fiction for years and years and years rather than forced into improvisational situations.

45. “When I first met Joyce, I didn’t intend to be a writer. That only came later when I found out that I was no good at all at teaching. When I found I simply couldn’t teach. But I do remember speaking about Joyce’s heroic achievement. I had a great admiration for him. That’s what it was: epic, heroic, what he achieved. I realized that I couldn’t go down that same road.” – Samuel Beckett, interview in Beckett Remembering/Remembering Beckett: A Centenary Celebration, ed. James and Elizabeth Knowlson
While not necessarily explicitly about the writing process, one of Ireland’s most celebrated playwrights notes how integral inspirational people and mentors can be when launching a literary career.

46. “In the writing of novels there is the problem of how to shape a narrative. And though the search for new ways of telling goes on – I’ve written about this at terrible length – I don’t think there are going to be any new discoveries. For one thing, literature is not a science. There is no new formula.” – Gore Vidal, interview with The Paris Review, Fall 1974
Literary experiments are grand, but writers will just have to understand that it’s entirely likely that what they try may have already been tried before. Just relax. You might not write anything groundbreaking, but you can still write something great.

47. “Our salvation, to the extent that we have one, will come out of people realizing the crisis of our species and of the planet and offering their deepest dream of what’s possible.” – Alice Walker, interview with Writer’s Digest, Aug. 31, 2010
This beloved Pulitzer recipient is another proponent of the writing arts as a window into reality, encouraging authors to push humanity towards positive change.

48. “The way I write is, I listen to things in my head and then I copy them down. I memorize conversations and things like that; I seem to be able to do that pretty well. I suppose in that respect there’s some improvisation, although I work over the stuff after I’ve got it down on paper.” – Harvey Pekar, interview with Random House
Slice-of-life underground comics form the bulk of Harvey Pekar’s most popular writings, but he actually enjoyed quite a career as a jazz critic as well. Here, he analyzes the role music may have played in shaping his writing process and style.

49. “Write something every day. Sit for a few minutes, and write the word of the day.” – Maxine Hong Kingston, interview with Sonshi.com
Another quote from the enormous cadre of respected authors who swear by dedicating at least part of the day to writing — although she goes so far as to suggest that only one word still equates to productivity. Many a fellow practitioner of the literary arts will obviously quite appreciate this sentiment!

50. “You have to get to a very quiet place inside yourself. And that doesn’t mean that you can’t have noise outside. I know some people who put jazz on, loudly, to write. I think each writer has her or his secret path to the muse.” – Maya Angelou, interview with O: The Oprah Magazine, April 2011
Maya Angelou sums up the writing process better than anyone — in most ways, it’s completely subjective and reliant on the comfort levels and creativity of the writers themselves. Amazing snippets of advice no doubt exist, of course, but in the end there is no genuinely “one size fits all” strategy

Bruce Andrews, Bill O’Reilly, and the Location of Knowledge

Where — or perhaps the better question is ‘through what means’ — does one find knowledge?  I wasn’t expecting to end up asking this question when I was hanging out at the Unicorn Café in Evanston with Michael Gregory Stephens and Lina Ramona Vitkauskas.  We were talking about how there’s been loss as well as gain with the rise of the new media: we all conduct our business with publishers over the internet now, and it’s just not the same as the days when Michael used to meet with the Grove Press people at Max's Kansas City.  This led us to talking about Youtube clips of various poets, and Lina mentioned Bruce Andrews’ appearance on Bill O’Reilly’s Fox News broadcast back in 2006.  I’d never seen it, but when I watched it, I felt almost immediately that the conflict between Andrews and O’Reilly wasn’t really a conflict between the political left and the political right, although that’s certainly how O’Reilly saw it.  At its core, it was a conflict deeper than that, a conflict about where, and how, one finds the basis of knowledge.  The most intriguing part of the conflict hove into view when it became clear that O’Reilly’s view of the location of knowledge had its origin in ideas propagated not on the right, but by the New Left of the 1960s and 70s — while Andrews’ view had deeper historical origins, in the classical liberalism of people like Matthew Arnold and, behind them, the Enlightenment.

O’Reilly wasn’t interviewing Andrews in Andrews’ capacity as a leading representative of Language Poetry, but in his capacity as a professor of political science at Fordham University.  Someone on O’Reilly’s staff had heard that there was a well-known book about then-President George W. Bush’s Iraq War lies on the syllabus of a course Andrews taught on foreign policy, and O’Reilly wanted to present this to his public as an outrage.  The segment of his show on which Andrews appeared was even called “Outrage of the Week.”  The conversation began with O’Reilly noting the presence of this anti-Bush book on the syllabus, and asking Andrews if “that sounds fair and balanced.”  When Andrews begins to talk about his syllabus, O’Reilly demands “which book is fair and balanced, or presents a pro-capitalist point of view.”

This is a fascinating question, since it seems to propose two contradictory theories about the path to truth and knowledge.  On the one hand, O’Reilly seems to be saying that only a book with a “pro-capitalist” point of view could be “fair and balanced.”  On the other hand, he seems to imply that individual books should be partisan, and that a course can become “fair and balanced” only by presenting different partisanships, letting the truth emerge from the clash of admittedly biased ideological viewpoints.  As the conversation goes on, it becomes clear that O’Reilly holds the latter view: that everyone has an ideological bias, that their discourse inevitably reflects self-interest, and only through presenting different views together can we arrive at valid knowledge.

Andrews, to his credit, does not let O’Reilly control the terms of discussion.  Rather than trying to find a “pro-capitalist” book on his syllabus, he responds by saying that the point of his foreign policy course is not to be pro- or anti- capitalism, but “to explain different countries’ foreign policies.”  It’s not about advocacy; it’s about analysis.  This simply does not compute for O’Reilly, who resumes his line of questioning about the ideological content of books on the syllabus.  “Is there any… book in your class you consider pro-American?” he asks.  Unshaken, Andrews replies by saying his is “not a normative class” — he doesn’t want to embrace or reject a particular ideology.  “It’s about understanding,” he says.  Unwilling or unable to grasp the notion of a course that aims at objectivity, O’Reilly asserts that Andrews is taking advantage of his students, “feeding them one world view” when he should be presenting more.

Andrews’ sense of the location of knowledge, here, is that it can be found in the individual’s attempt at objective, disinterested analysis—that we approach our texts with as cold and unprejudiced an eye as possible, and look not for what confirms our desires or our self-interest, nor for what we wish would be true, but for what is actually the case.  There’s a long tradition behind this way of thinking, with a center of gravity in the Enlightenment thinkers of the 18^thcentury.  More proximate exemplars of the tradition include Matthew Arnold and, later, I.A. Richards.  Since I have a particular fondness for Richards, and have his Practical Criticism ready to hand, let’s quote from him.  Here, he defines what he thinks of as primitive thinking:

In primitive man . . . any idea which opens a ready outlet to emotion or points to a line of action in conformity with custom is quickly believed. . . . Given a need (whether conscious as a desire) or not, any idea which can be taken as a step on the way to its fulfillment is accepted. . . . This acceptance, this use of the idea—by our interests, our desires, feelings, attitudes, tendencies to action and what not—is emotional belief.

In Richards’ view, primitive thought is thought that takes confirmation of one’s own biases, needs, desires, or vested interests as true.  There’s no sincere attempt at objectivity or disinterest.  Rather, what feels right must be right.  If you’ve ever had the dire misfortune of getting into an argument with a gun rights zealot, you’ve probably encountered this kind of thinking: dubious and misinterpreted statistics fly fast, and are hurled around without much checking into their validity or applicability.  Statistics are valued less for the rigor that went into their creation than for their utility as intellectual ammunition. 

Another, better approach to knowledge comes when we attempt to achieve disinterest — something not possible in an absolute sense, but approachable by degrees (there is, after all, a difference between outright propaganda by, say, climate change deniers, and the attempt at objectivity by most members of the scientific community).  Here’s how Richards describes the process of attempting disinterest:

To respond, not through one narrow channel of interest, but simultaneously and coherently through many, is to be disinterested in the only sense of the word which concerns us here. A state of mind which is not disinterested is one which sees things only from one standpoint or under one aspect. At the same time, since more of our personality is engaged the independence and individuality of other things becomes greater. We seem to see ‘all round’ them, to see them as they really are; we see them apart from any one particular interest which they may have for us. Of course without some interest, we should not see them at all, but the less any one particular interest is indispensable, the more detached our attitude becomes. And to say that we are impersonal is merely a curious way of saying that our personality is more completely involved.

The individual’s attempt to see things as they really are — that’s the essence of disinterest.  The goal of thinking, here, isn’t to win a fight by thinking up arguments for what you already believe, or what you think will advance your particular interests.  The goal, as Bruce Andrews might say, “is understanding.”

Bill O’Reilly’s sense is that knowledge isn’t located in the mind of the person who attempts disinterest.  Rather, it is located in the clash between overtly self-interested antagonists: that’s why O’Reilly can’t seem to understand Andrews when he refuses to accept the pro-American/anti-American or pro-capitalist/anti-capitalist dichotomies O’Reilly throws his way.  Knowledge must be a matter of conflict, in this view, and the notion of disinterest makes about as much sense as bringing a slide rule to a knife fight.

The truly interesting thing about O’Reilly’s view, which has become a staple of the right wing, is that it comes from a left wing source.  That is, biggest challenge to the notion of disinterested knowledge came from the left radicalism of the 1960s.  Here’s an anecdote that I think captures something of the circumstances under which that challenge emerged.  It’s from a memoir of teaching at SUNY-Buffalo in Robert Hass’ Twentieth Century Pleasures:

The year must have been 1969; the room was packed with students and faculty dressed, as the style was, to their archetypes: Indians, buffalo hunters, yogis, metaphysical hoboes, rednecks, lumberjacks, Mandingo princes, lions, tigers, hawks, and bears.  Everything the American middle class had repressed lounged in that room listening to speaker after speaker with beatific attention.  Which took some doing.  I remember in particular a graduate student from the Progressive Labor Party who read an exceedingly long essay on the parallels between Bob Dylan's career and the growth of political theory in the New Left….When he finished, Edgar Friedenburg, the sociologist, rose to speak.  He is a dapper man and he wore a light gray suit with a striped broadcloth Brooks Brothers shirt.  His glasses sat low on his nose, his hair was tousled, and he looked amused.  He only managed one sentence: "I have been reflecting this afternoon that we are patient beings, and that, though popular culture deserves our most urgent attention, it requires from us a good deal less credence and more clearwater."  Some of the audience laughed; and a student in the front stood up, jabbed a finger forward, and said, "Friedenburg, it took twenty fucking years of repressive fucking education for you to learn to talk like that."

Friedenburg is clearly a representative of the Arnoldian tradition, looking to the free and fresh play of ideas and to the calm clarity of the disinterested mind as the sources of truth.  The kid from the Progressive Labor Party isn’t having it.  For him, Friedenburg’s position is just another unconsciously ideological bit of self-interest, worse than most in that it masquerades as an objectivity that it can never be.

This New Left skepticism about disinterest entered the academy over the course of the 70s and 80s, becoming quite commonplace in certain departments, especially English and Comparative Literature.  A famous article by William Spanos appeared in PMLA in 1985 that explicitly attacked notions of disinterest, and called I.A. Richards to account.  “Richards,” wrote Spanos, “categorically dismisses as inevitably activating intellectual warfare … a hermeneutics of understanding as antagonistic dialogue.” For Spanos, the path to knowledge didn’t lie through the attempt at disinterest.  Rather, it was to be found by constructing arguments for one’s own self-interest, and pummeling the opposition with them.  The opposition was welcome to pummel back (if you want to know more about the Richards-Spanos debate, you might have a look at my article “Aesthetics as Ethics: One and a Half Theses on the New Criticism,” in Re-Reading the New Criticism, edited by Miranda Hickman and John D. McIntyre, out from Ohio State University Press earlier this year—you can actually read a large portion of the article for free using the "look inside" feature on Amazon.com's listing for the book).

At some point, the right wing adopted the New Left’s distrust of disinterest, taking the idea that no form of knowledge was free of bias and distorting it into the belief that opposing views must be presented on all issues, and are to be treated as if equal. Hence the phenomenon of talk shows on which a scientist, presenting what he or she sincerely believes to be the truth, is forced to debate a propagandist, often funded by giant corporations or their think tanks, who only wants to present facts, or pseudo-facts, that advance the interests of his paymasters.  We’ve got people who live by the culture of disinterest (always imperfectly attained) set in combat against people who don’t really care whether what they say is true, only whether it advances their cause.

It’s the triumph, on the political right, of what Spanos (himself no right winger) called “a hermeneutics of understanding as antagonistic dialogue” that makes it impossible for Bill O’Reilly to understand Bruce Andrews when he says his course isn’t normative, but devoted to understanding.  And it’s Andrews’ embrace of old notions of disinterested knowledge—in a climate where both the academic left and the political right distrust claims to disinterest—that makes him a truly counter-cultural figure.