Toast

toast said...
Why do you bother reading novels? Everything you say here suggests that the novel can only interfere with your imaginative "connection" with whatever scene your attention falls on at any given moment. You're much more interested in your own ludicrous notions of presence and emotional force than in the aesthetic effects that someone else (a novelist for example) can accomplish, which brings us to your Ur-story thesis. What's the point here? Do you want to reduce all fiction to one boring, narrow platitude? That's pretty much what you're doing. Either give up reading the work of others and simply indulge your own imaginative waffle, or try to be receptive to aesthetic effects that you haven't already anticipated and mapped out for yourself. The way you read this novel is like going to a football game determined in advance that unless it ends with Doug Flutey's hail-mary miracle, it can't possibly live up to expectations.

28/7/08 11:42

Great comment, Toast.  I'm elevating it to the front page so more folk can read it.  I thought a lot about it on vacation, but wanted to wait until I got back to give it the fully attentive answer it deserves.

'Why do you bother reading novels?' Nothing moves me more when done well. The novel is my favorite artform. Full stop. But beyond that, as a novelist myself, I read for instruction on form and technique.

'Everything you say here suggests that the novel can only interfere with your imaginative "connection" with whatever scene your attention falls on at any given moment. You're much more interested in your own ludicrous notions of presence and emotional force than in the aesthetic effects that someone else (a novelist for example) can accomplish...' This is legit. Guilty on all counts. The deconstructive critique of philosophy (including, if I'm not mistaken, Rorty's) chided the discipline for priveleging the fiction of presence: that language could precisely describe features of the world, that there was some point where thought and reality connected/coincided. That's simplistic, but succinct. Fiction starts from the point where we acknowledge there is nothing 'real' on the other side of its language, a truer stance, if you will. A metaphysics of absence. It proceeds to create its own world and, with varying degrees, draw us in. So, yes, I want to connect with the simulacrum of presence in the fictional world on an emotional level. But there's more: the intellectual discipline of detailing that world, of thematic unity, of figurative coherence, of linguistic beauty. These are the aesthetic effects, the experience, I seek—no crave—in fiction.

'...which brings us to your Ur-story thesis. What's the point here? Do you want to reduce all fiction to one boring, narrow platitude? That's pretty much what you're doing.' A fair reading. With the Ur-story series of posts, I have been inquiring about the nature of fiction. A previous series, that on James Wood's How Fiction Works, found his book wanting in addressing and recognizing the centrality of the matter of story. What, then, is a story (as opposed to plot—of which there are myriad)? What is its essence? These are the questions I posed to myself, unable as I was to find adequate answers elsewhere. So, is my answer the right one? Is the response to the human condition the essence of fictional art? Who's to say? Opinions, as they say, are like arseholes. Everybody's got one. I don't think, however, my view is necessarily reductionist: that's where the artistry comes in. And, as to matters of taste, why go there?

'Either give up reading the work of others and simply indulge your own imaginative waffle, or try to be receptive to aesthetic effects that you haven't already anticipated and mapped out for yourself.' I'll take your suggestion under advisement, though I don't anticipate giving up reading anytime soon. And, FYI, there are plenty of novels I love, including, the recently read Out Stealing Horses and Terrestrials. You can also check out my reviews herein of Disgrace and The True History of the Kelly Gang and The Loser. There are, of course, others.

'The way you read this novel is like going to a football game determined in advance that unless it ends with Doug Flutey's hail-mary miracle, it can't possibly live up to expectations.' Oh, but you're wrong. Set lofty standards, make demands on art, and when they're lived up to, the aesthetic rewards are deeply satisfying—think Boise State vs. Oklahoma. Don't, Toast, settle.

Best,

Jim H.

P.S. Love the site.