Anxiety & Anonymity

My inspiration this week (and yes, this season, since I have neglected Nuances since February) comes from one of my favorite places: Bookends from the The New York Times. The article is "How Do We Judge Books Written Under Pseudonyms?" By Francine Prose and Daniel Mendelsohn. November 12, 2013. I would recommend giving the article a quick glance before attempting to understand my mad ramblings and ruminations. Because, well...I ramble and ruminate. 

Click Below! I'll take you to the article too!

http://mobile.nytimes.com/2013/11/17/books/review/how-do-we-judge-books-written-under-pseudonyms.html?partner=rss&emc=rss&smid=tw-nytimes

My two favorite insights from this:

"Pseudonyms are especially attractive to fiction writers, whose work (inventing people and seeing the world through their eyes) requires an impersonation, of sorts. Writing under a pen name is like doing an impersonation of someone doing an impersonation...A friend who did something like this says he needed his alter ego, not to conceal his real name but to 'be' that fictitious person, who wrote a scene in which a father cannibalizes a family pet." ~Mendelsohn

"The critical urge to see family resemblances in an author’s work arises from a psychological insight: The creative mind is, like all minds, coherent, even if its coherences aren’t apparent. Like a psychotherapist, the critic looks for patterns, themes and repetitions not only within a work but across an artist’s career in order to uncover the hidden unities." ~ Prose

It's very true: analysis can become stale and lazy when a reader has already put significant effort into understanding an author's work—ask them to read another piece, and 7 out of 10 times, they will find similar "conclusions" about the author's intent or influences. You cannot unlearn something that you have learned through self-tutelage. Well, not without a lot of rewiring and maybe some amnesia!

If you look to Harold Bloom's "Anxiety of Influence", he asserts [my modest set of conclusions after that self-taught principle I just described]  that every generation is at creative war with itself.   We attempt to outdo the literary achievements of our ancestors, living in the constant fear that we will not surpass the innovation of the "greats" who wrote before us. And so one of two things will happen: a writer will try a technique and approach that deviates as far as possible from his or hero, OR a writer will first try to master and then elevate the very techniques of his or hero hero. It occurs to me now, that the argument Bloom made supported the notion that a constant comparison between the new and the old ends stifles new and innovative approaches to written expression. Anxiety for achievement distracts from the work at hand. That somehow we fixate on the past to try and inspire the new, which would hinder growth. I think looking to the past CAN hinder new achievements and voices, but it can also inform the historical canon, and push writers to invest in technique, and leave the changing world to continue to inspire new plot lines, dramatic and tragic twists and character flaws, and all those other little goodies (aka the story itself)!

So, the idea of an author using a nom de plume to escape (I infer) the anxiety of HIS or HER name being judged repeatedly in the literary canon, as he or she makes these adventures into technique, tale and talent, makes sense to me! To generate a fake identity so that he can write from a perspective not entirely his own, and thus be free to craft crazy, horrible plot lines that he (or she) would never otherwise attempt—in deference to the past generation's written achievements and homage to "good taste"—certainly speaks to the writer's love of  the craft. The nom de plume is a loophole; it provides the writer freedom to step beyond the constraints of literary study, the tastes and trends of the day, and even the expectation that he may have had for his illustrious career. In anonymity or alternative identities, we are free to write about "what we know" through a lens and with a style unique to a time, place, and perspective. It stands alone ready for analysis and comment but ripped away from an author's preceding body of works. It's a relationship between a reader and a writer that stands outside of preconceived expectations.

It's rather tantalizing when you think of it that way, no? 

~Written, shockingly enough, by a devoted follower of New Historicism (oops!)

Writers are Masochists, Or Things I Learned from a Movie

There is a sentiment among writers—and no, I do not believe myself a member of that erudite or eloquent clan—that to write a “true” story requires a level of sacrifice and pain.

There is also the belief that work is never truly finished. Well, combine those two, and I would say Writers are about the most masochistic set of individuals on the planet. 

No thank you. I will take “blogger” any day. Too heavy already? Check out my story about Bowling Squirrels!

I have just finished watching a rather unique film. And, as typically happens when I combine lofty dramas with a Cabernet, I get a little contemplative. Ok, pretentious. Ok, maybe pedantic. Oh do leave off!

“At some point you have to choose between real life and fiction. The two are very close, but they never actually touch.” 

Basic Plot: Film, The Words

Dennis Quaid plays a writer who is debuting his newest work, and is being quite coquettishly pursued by a Young Girl, who shares aspirations of being a writer. Through a rather twisted and confusing chronology, Quaid’s character reveals to her the central characters of his novel. Among the cast of characters are:  a struggling writer, played by Bradley Cooper; the writer’s supportive wife, Zoe Zaldana; and a rather gruff and cryptic Old Man, played by the gruff and cryptic Jeremy Irons. Over the course of the film, you then enter into a play-within-a-play-within-a-play storyline; Cooper’s character discovers a briefcase containing an old manuscript, which he eventually steals, that just happens to be a semi-autobiographical fiction written about AND by the Old Man. Still with me? I know, a play-within-a-play-within-a-play.  Only even more confusing since the deepest level of the “fiction” happens to be based on the “real life” events of the secondary fiction level (re: the Old Man). [Insert apology for my unfortunate love of dissecting film through the lens of literary criticism.]

In the film, the story within a story mechanism, presents a writer whose attempts to educate a young and idealistic girl is more than complicated: it jumps abruptly between concepts of male desire, loving and longing, the artist’s insecurity, and even the worthiness of societal approbation. Each scene could be a vignette—staccato rhythms and disjointed transitions do very little to connect Quaid to his manifested younger self in Cooper, or to the source of his anxiety and creative self-doubt, represented by the Old Man (Irons).

Quaid’s character represents a writer who is questioning his own success in life, and is wondering if all that has been thrown at him—objects of lust (the Young Girl), social approbation (the book signing), or his right to a writer’s voyeurism (the Obscenely Large Glass Loftspace)—is truly the result of his own talent, or the arbitrary series of occurrences in an ambitious man’s life? Or worse, he wonders if he is only an mediocre writer, imitating a greater man’s effort. 

What separates the great from the never discovered? Whoever wrote this screenplay had Harold Bloom’s “Anxiety of Influence” in mind. In that essay, Bloom discusses the paradigm of the current generation: an ambitious young man, in whatever age he lives, will always feel the pressure to live up the legends, or “fathers”, that came before him. The greatest fear of that young man is not necessarily that he may never be discovered and his talent recognized, but that his contributions are merely versions, subpar attempts, of the efforts of his “fathers”.  So, Quaid essentially writes about his own artistic insecurities when he saddles the handsome Cooper with thievery and the contempt of Old Man Irons. My view deviates from here quite a bit—if the young man is meant to be anxious of his own influences, for both their merits and their sins, he is then going to constantly live in fear of the so-called pioneers who inspired him. Take that a step further and you end up with a young man at war with the very sources of his inspiration. 

Some might argue that this is the heart of how art makes progress, and how fields continue to grow. I will not venture there. I cannot claim to have thought very much on the subject. But I will run with this War-With-The-Muse idea!

There is a line in the movie in which the Old Man claims, “I loved words more than I loved the woman who inspired me to write them. [That is] my tragedy.” Discarding the gender issue, and even the gargantuan character that is played by the silent character “Writing”, this sentiment builds from Bloom’s premise: we may overlook, underappreciate, or even over-appreciate the necessary influences that shape our own self-worth. In order to be happy, in order to create without fear or doubt, one must accept that choices are but choices, and inspiration is simply an advantage to the act of creation. They are springboards for action certainly, but it is the man, and not the “influences” that redirects a life, a story, a resolution. 

At the end, Quaid has a moment where he tells the Young Girl that the novel concludes with “no morals, no consequences”, just an understanding that life can go on as usual, despite the horrible and tragic choices we make. The Young Girl seems extremely put off by this, and in a rather obvious moment, Quaid counters with the aforementioned “choose between real life and fiction.” The screenwriters may have tried to tackle about four different literary/social constructs, but this one is nailed (unfortunately, when most audiences are probably too confused by the timeline to catch it): in real life, the “story” does go on, and in so many cases our villains and our heroes are no different from one another. They exist at a level beneath the epic reach of fiction—because it is only in fiction that we demand to actually learn from the human experience. Real life? Oh gracious, how often do we dance with glee when our mistakes go unpunished? My point exactly!

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, will conclude me harassing your eyes on screen. 

Cheers! Now, go read a book or clean the dishes or something. ::wink and a smile::

Shameless

It has never been one of my ambitions to make history by breaking all the rules.

I respect the men and women who have. In their rebellion, they have overhauled systems of law and commerce; these warriors have lived passionate lives, full of heroics, and they carry the torch of the "American Rebel" spirit into every new generation. Our pace of progress rests on their shoulders. Where would we be--in this modern age--without those individuals?

Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, Carnegie, and J.P. Morgan (for better or worse) would never have pushed the envelopes of business and created the trust culture which financed our greatest industrial age. Nor would they have been the giants whose fall ushered in the rise of the middle class.

Carnegie looks cuddly, doesn't he?

Gloria Steinem, and her peers, would never have become the megaphones for feminism; and we might still ignorant of how low the "glass ceiling" could hang.

Sandra Day O'Connor might never have brought her brand of justice to that very important bench. 

Harvey Milk would never had changed the political landscape for the LGBT community.

Kathyrn Bigelow's remarkable cinematic storytelling might never have led to the first Oscar for a female director; more importantly, her storytelling in a male dominated world might never have been heard.

All impressive, all noteworthy...the list could go on, and on, and on. The warriors of our collective national history found rule books and they did what unlikely leaders do best: they broke every rule they did not like.

But there is another sort of individual who makes history: the Guileless Innovator.

 

The individual whose pioneering efforts created the incredible, the new, and the desperately-in-need-of-regulation category. And maybe, just maybe, they never meant to start a movement. These are the folks that bring a secret smile of admiration to my face. They never went to "war," or overhauled a system. Their mark on history is unquestionable--but their approach so very eloquent: these men and women did what they did first, and so they predated the rules and regulations of their so-called industries.

Mary Kay Ash, the entrepreneur, needed a business model that could grow while she slept. One that would allow her to succeed based on the quality of effort she put forward, rather than the scale set forth by a corporate culture. So, she launched a cosmetics company that has provided millions of women with financial independence over three decades. A model that is now mimicked by hundreds of boutique American businesses.

Oprah Winfrey, Media Mogul, tackled daytime television when daytime television was a breeding ground for little more than soap operas and appliance commercials. Sure, she knocked down several racial barriers in her career as a journalist, but her unexpected achivement came later. She built a platform on which the feuding (post feminist divide) Domestic Female could connect to her Career-Culture counterpart. On national television. She probably also inflamed a consumerism problem ("My Favorite Things"), but let's share credit where credit is due.

Jimmy Wales, the co-founder of the Wikipedia Foundation, saw an opportunity to create shared knowledge among nations, peoples, and neighbors. His presence in the modern subconscious is certainly as strong as that of Mark Zuckerburg, and his Facebook creation. The difference? Wales invited the world to share in authorship. And created one of the most visited information resources on the planet, with more information kept on its pages than in the lost library of Alexandria.

And, arguably, my favorite woman of cinema: the seductive, guileless Queen of Metro Goldwyn Meyer, Norma Shearer. The first time that I saw the film The Women, I was transfixed by this beautiful, gregarious starlet. Charming, witty and so very present. And I wondered why I had only a vague memory of her name. Well, one quick look into Tinseltown's history and you will find a woman credited with every (though few) brave cinematic roles in Pre-Code Hollywood. She played a naive little divorcee, a royal adulteress, and in The Women, a housewife who refuses to pretend that her husband's infidelity is not cause for a trip to Reno. In pre-code Hollywood there were no rules. Society may have had them, but no one had yet to say that the theater or cinematic world was a place for censorship. This was art. She was the first talkie super star. And, after all, if Shakespeare's crude comedies were still getting stage time, why not a shattered housewife, desperate to maintain her dignity while struggling with love for her husband? Well, Code Hollywood reacted to the lovely Norma with many restrictions. Script content was monitored, clothing choices were scrutinized. The lovely Queen of MGM? She simply took off her tiara, influenced the producer's chair and steered cinema into new waters by her hubby's side (Mr. MGM himself).

So, in the grand tradition of Navigating the Nuances, I bring you a topic from the far left field to consider. If the legacy were to be yours, which would you rather:

Be a rebel who finds victory in the spotlight,

Or be the guileless innovator who makes history before the spotlight has even caught up?

Metafiction & gChat

One of my typical (no really) gChat conversations ~

Friend:  dude g'day!!

Me:  alllo!!! I was so about to send you an email; metafiction ring a bell?

Friend:  vaguely

Me:  I question its definition...broadest set of criteria ever, with the most convoluted definition http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metafiction. How can strains of Chaucer be present in Vonnegut? Or Stephen King's Secret Window?

Friend:  yeahhhh...so!  fun story!

Me:  More than that, how can such a label exist, refuse to assert itself as a criticism style, and yet NOT allow itself to be read through the lens of another style?
Oh. You aren't interested.
hahaha.
where is my dorky friend when I need her? hahaha
story! go!

Really. Why do people put up with me?
In the end, the non-chatting Third Party that had originally asked me about the phenom known as "metafiction" really just wanted me to comment, and then use my piqued interest to share this picture. So, I'm guessing she didn't really care about metafiction either???

Hot Professor Michael, of the Neon Nation 80s Band

Photo courtesy of Neon Nation: The Ultimate Live 80s Experience
Oh, and Third Part Friend probably did also care about metafiction...but the story was better if she didn't. ;)