Thrown Out of the Story

There's some pretty good stuff in the June issue of Open Letters. These two pieces in particular are well worth reading:

Adam Golaski on active reading:

A phenomenon people who read are familiar with: book in hand, hours pass unnoticed. A book has so engaged the mind that the hard desk chair, the unheated library, the downstairs neighbor’s murderous lovers’ spat go unnoticed. To emerge from such a state is like waking from an afternoon nap: sleep snatched during normal business hours, dreams lucid. . .

That this depth of concentration can only occur when storytelling is transparent, i.e., when there is no authorial presence to interfere with the reader’s attention upon the story, is false. An easy read encourages a sloppy read. Strong, plot-driven narratives often keep readers rapt, but something that demands close attention—which plot-driven narratives rarely do—is better equipped to engage the active reader. Just because a reader looks up from the page doesn’t mean the reader isn’t still inside the text. Books that hold the active reader’s attention allow for contemplation, invite the reader to pause and reread a line that was especially dense or especially beautiful, and stimulate new thinking. I’ve heard such interludes described negatively as “being thrown out of the story.” Rather, such interludes are a part of the story. . . .

John Cotter reads the print reviews of Jonathan Lethem's You Don't Love Me Yet (chosen randomly) and experiences "an unexpected disappointment":

Newspaper book reviews are getting hit by a truck, all right; they’re getting hit by a big truck full of shallowness and clichéd ideas and received opinion and flash. And they’re leaning into it.

Comments

[Steven Augustine]

Reading the hash Lethem made of On Chesil Beach in his long piece for the NYTBR, I fairly vibrated with the injustice of all the sermons I've been reading about the inherent superiority of the print venue.

[Tom]

Sort of a nonsequitur there from Steven Augustine.

Is it possible that the uninspired reviews that a "You Don't Love Me Yet" receives derive from the fact that had a book this slight, this unadventurous, this sloppy, been written by anybody other than a Jonathan Lethem it would have had no attention paid it at all? The kneejerk assumption (an assumption that I understand and, to a certain degree, can stand behind) is that the "important" author will always write a book of some inherent "importance." But as Hemingway proved many years ago and John Updike seems to prove every three or four years, great authors are perfectly capable of writing crap. Why, therefore, does the critical establishment, the reviewing establishment, the book establishment, continue to treat these vain utterances, that verge upon the unpublishable, as important?

[Steven Augustine]

Tom, if you can explain how my comment about a poorly-written book review in response to Dan's mention of a piece about poorly-written book reviews is a "non sequitur", I'll considered myself thrilled.

[Tom]

Well, OK, Steven. Maybe if Lethem were on record as ever having uttered or written a single word suggesting that "the print venue" is inherently superior, your comment might be relevant. As it is, Lethem's just a target of opportunity for you.

[Steven Augustine]

Tom, my comment wasn't referring to any position of Lethem's, it was tilted against those who hold print as superior to blogs by default; my use of Lethem's poorly-written review was merely as evidence that the print-is-always-better proposition is false. The line, "...I fairly vibrated with the injustice of all the sermons I've been reading about the inherent superiority of the print venue," refers to my reaction after reading Lethem's inferior (in my opinion) print review. As is obvious.

I don't know how to break that down any further for you, but your misreading of such a simple statement gets points for being creative (if inexplicably hostile).

[Tom]

You don't have to break anything down for me. I can read. Simple is right, and I didn't misread it. This wasn't the place for your reaction to Lethem's review; Lethem's review wasn't heralded in the NYTBR as an example of print's ineffable superiority, and, as I said, Lethem is hardly the writer at whom you would point the finger in accusation of reactionary thinking -- your comment's just irrelevant; and, now that you bring it up, totally unsupported. What's wrong with Lethem's review, exactly? How does what's wrong with it -- in your opinion -- demonstrate that "the print venue" is somehow the naked emperor? Where is the "internet venue" review of On Chesil Beach that will make me vibrate with the thrill of knowing that a new critical era is dawning?

I don't think Cotter's making a particular point about the meretriciousness of the idea of "the inherent superiority of the print venue." He's talking about the ways that the review process fails writers. He also mentions instances in which "the print venue" does a good job with Lethem's book. Jack Green wrote similarly decades before there was any idea of there being anything other than a "print venue." (He was, I'll grant you, self-published.)

[Steven Augustine]

"What's wrong with Lethem's review, exactly?"

It's a taste thing, Tom.

[Tom]

Ah. Duly enlightened.

[Tom]

(Clears throat)

Is it possible that the uninspired reviews that a "You Don't Love Me Yet" receives derive from the fact that had a book this slight, this unadventurous, this sloppy, been written by anybody other than a Jonathan Lethem it would have had no attention paid it at all? The kneejerk assumption (an assumption that I understand and, to a certain degree, can stand behind) is that the "important" author will always write a book of some inherent "importance." But as Hemingway proved many years ago and John Updike seems to prove every three or four years, great authors are perfectly capable of writing crap. Why, therefore, does the critical establishment, the reviewing establishment, the book establishment, continue to treat these vain utterances, that verge upon the unpublishable, as important?

[Mark]

"Why, therefore, does the critical establishment, the reviewing establishment, the book establishment, continue to treat these vain utterances, that verge upon the unpublishable, as important?"

All critics in all eras have been horrible at determining what's good and what merely pleases current sensibilities, when dealing with the newly published. Updike, Roth, Ford, Franzen, Lethem, etc.--obviously they please many current sensibilities, and they might wind up being writers for the ages (even Harold Bloom admits he is not to be trusted to make such predictions, before he makes them anyway), so newspapers and glossies can't lose readers by covering them, or at least not as many readers as they might lose by covering unproven writers.