The New Yorker's weird fiction
The New Yorker's penchant for publishing what I think of as weird fiction is driving me absolutely bonkers, completely around the bend. I look forward to the arrival of the magazine each week, and my favorite part of each issue always has been the fiction offering. Traditionally, the stories have been thoughtful, lyrical, wholly engrossing windows into another life provided by John Updike, Louise Erdrich, or Annie Proulx.
At least, that's the way they used to be.
But for the past few years, approximately one of every two stories is awful, absurdist post-modern fare that eschews even the merest pretense of character, plot and storytelling. It's enough to make me want to set fire to the pages, and then stamp out the embers with my bare feet.
In the March 30 issue, Craig Raine's Julia and Bryon begins: "When Julia was 29, her hair was already bar-coded."
In the March 2 issue, David Foster Wallace's Wiggle Room begins: "Lane Dean, Jr., with his green rubber pinkie finger, sat at his Tingle table in his chalk’s row in the rotes group’s wiggle room and did two more returns, then another one, then flexed his buttocks and held to a count of ten and imagined a warm pretty beach with mellow surf, as instructed in orientation the previous month."
The tone is light, ironic, amused and oh, so detached. What really gets me is the feeling that my time and energy has been squandered for no purpose. The authors themselves don't seem to care about what they're writing, so why should I?
It's not that I object to experimental fiction. I am one of the comparatively few non-college professors who can claim to have read James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake from start to finish (several years ago, with a group of friends once a week, and out loud).
Probably 90 percent of the text shot right past me, but the other 10 percent is funny and sad and beautiful (including one exquisite ode to an envelope.) Throughout, I had the strong feeling that Joyce had something he desperately was trying to say, someting that mattered so much to him that he invented a new language to fit the particular demands of his message. The great irony, of course, is that the technique Joyce devised to communicate effectively removed the book from the grasp of all but a tiny fraction of readers.
But whatever that writing is, it is not bloodless. Joyce always seems passionately engaged. The idea behind Finnegan's Wake makes sense to me. If there is a point to Wiggle Room, it eludes me.
Having said all this, I just re-upped my subscription to The New Yorker, so weird fiction will arrive in my mailbox for at least the next two years. And, in that light, I'm willing to be educated.
Maybe some of you can see a merit to the stuff that escapes me. If you have observations on what non-narrative fiction has to offer, any insights that could help me not only understand these stories but -- gasp -- enjoy them, please, please, please share your thoughts.
Comments
That's often the problem with experimental fiction - completely unapproachable, even to smart folks. Many a time I find myself admiring the form and structure, or general idea, while at the same time I find myself getting bored of trying to get through the text. Still, some works do succeed, like Chris Bachelder's U.S. - an experimental work that is very entertaining, and manages to get a point or two across. Nice post!
Posted by: Aaron Dietz | April 4, 2009 8:31 PM
Hey Aaron -- Just saw yer post, as I was off for a few days. Thanks for the suggestion of U.S. by Chris Bachelder I'll be sure to check it out. You've inspired me to put together an Irritating Book List. Watch this spot. :)
Posted by: Mary McCauley | April 7, 2009 10:38 AM
Hi, Mary--welcome to the small exclusive club of those who have read Finnegans Wake (I believe there is no apostrophe). I don't think Dave believed me when I told him I read it on my own, for my own pleasure, after my college years (I was not an English major). I have also had the pleasure of reading many of Joyce's letters--the originals. (One of the perks of being a librarian!)
As for the David Foster Wallace story, I admit to skimming it. I found it heart-breaking when you consider that the author struggled with profound depression and committed suicide last year.
Posted by: Dahlink | April 8, 2009 6:10 AM
Dahlink, my bad about the apostrophe in "Finnegans Wake." That's especially embarrassing since I have fulminated elsewhere about apostrophe abuse. David Foster Wallace's personal problems were heartbreaking, though I can't say they make me appreciate his fiction more. Out of curiosity, what did you think of the story you skimmed? Does it have merits that I missed?
Posted by: Mary McCauley | April 8, 2009 10:49 AM
I have recently read HANDLE TiME by LiNCOLN PARK. I believe it is a refreshing work of experimental fiction because the author uses fonts and expressions along with the plot of the story to completely engage readers in an embrace of stinging, post-modern satire. In addition no reader will be confused by cryptic definitions or phraseology. There is a crisp, succinct (and at times, expletive-laden) narrative from the central character, Chase; that makes you feel allied with her plight.
If experimental fiction works are beginning to reflect the style of works like HANDLE TiME, there is room for a complete revolution in print storytelling trends.
Posted by: Julie Baum | May 18, 2009 8:07 PM
Julie, thanks for your suggestion of LiNCOLN PARK'S "HANDLE TiME." Now that you mention it, I've read, and very much enjoyed books by Baltimore's own Stephen Dixon. His works also are considered experimental, and yet, I never have trouble following his narrative or investing in his characters. I think the clue may be that the author has to convey his own sense of engagement.
Posted by: Mary McCauley | May 19, 2009 9:31 AM