NPR ran a story today about the reactions of some bemused female authors to “Franzenfrenzy”—the furor from the literary establishment over FREEDOM
, the first book published by author Jonathan Franzen in a decade since his Oprah-pimped opus THE CORRECTIONS
.
Author Jodi Picoult spearheaded the reaction to Franzen:
How else can the Times explain the fact that white male authors ROUTINELY are assigned reviews in both the Sunday review section AND the daily book review section (often both raves) “while so many other writers go unnoticed by their critics?”
The discussion of white male darlings of the literary establishment aside, I found it interesting when a commenter on NPR remarked about the other much-ballyhooed book release this week: Suzanne Collins’s trilogy-completing MOCKINGJAY
, a YA dystopian fantasy.
FREEDOM and MOCKINGJAY perfectly capture the current state of publishing: literary fiction is primarily written by white males, and white male literary fiction authors receive the lion’s share of promotion, coverage, and consequent success. Conversely, YA is primarily written by white women, who receive the lion’s share of success in that realm.
Renowned literary fiction by men is referred to as illustrative of “the way we live now.”
Renowned YA fiction by women is marveled at for how much cash it generates for its authoresses.
In many ways, this literary dynamic mirrors the struggle between genders in Western society. Implicit is the understanding that men are authoritative, worthy of being taken seriously; women are relegated to child-rearing and child-entertaining. When a man succeeds, he’s applauded for his intelligence and creativity, his masterful ability to portray modern life with wit and pathos. When a woman succeeds, we can’t stop talking about how much money she made, or how many kids (and adults) love her—imposing on her a sort of literary motherhood.
(Of course, quality YA goes far beyond children’s entertainment, but put a YA title beside a literary fiction doorstop and invite comparison by the literary establishment.)
Anis Shivani wrote a scalding piece for The Huffington Post, ripping new stinkholes for 15 contemporary American writers he thinks are overrated. From an analysis of poet Louise Glück:
Utterly humorless—a characteristic common to the other mediocrities on this list. Adults are permanently grief-stricken (in the Creative Writing world, grief is the primary worthwhile emotion)—this obsession always comes with the paradox of trivialization of death (another characteristic common to those on this list).
This is something I’ve also noticed in modern fiction containing some degree of “literariness.” Characters wallow in their own misery, obsessed with feeling bad, but when something occurs that should incite true pathos—such as death—it’s treated with irreverence, as if the writer is admitting he doesn’t know how to handle real emotion, real loss.
Perhaps an inevitable consequence of writers churned through writing programs and workshops, taught to milk grief and misery—because pain is an easy substitute for honesty in fiction—without having experienced any of their own?
Just when you thought your beloved childhood video game franchise was safe from the living dead, here’s the cast of Super Mario Brothers as zombies.
More Mario zombies at mrksaari’s flickr photostream, including the full cast, Mario (and alternate Mario pose), Luigi, and Toad.
Great post on Mignon Fogarty’s awesome blog, Grammar Girl, regarding passive voice vs. active voice:
Politicians often use passive voice to intentionally obscure the idea of who is taking the action. Ronald Reagan famously said, “Mistakes were made,” when referring to the Iran-Contra scandal. Other examples of passive voice for political reasons could include “Bombs were dropped,” and “Shots were fired.”
As Grammar Girl explains, passive voice has the effect of changing the object of a sentence to the subject, which distances a reader from the action and paints a detached view of events.
In fiction, passive voice is something writers tend to use inadvertently, and wish to correct. I think unwitting use of passive voice is a symptom of lack of confidence in, or control over, prose. The writer is distancing herself from the action. There could be any number of reasons for this—perhaps she’s not really connecting emotionally with her characters; perhaps she’s writing by the seat of her pants and doesn’t know where the narrative is going—but the result is action blurred and passivized through a thick and insulating lens.
Luckily, passive voice is easy to fix. And deliberate usage of passive voice can have dramatic effect, from creating a sonorous, epic tone, to a chillingly clinical one.
A while back I posted about Japanese zombie meat. Well, it’s no longer just in Japan: you can now buy zombie jerky here in the US from Harcos Laboratories.
Some penetrating insight from their zombie FAQ:
Q: I saw a bunch of movies about Zombies. Do those have any bearing on reality?
A: Simple answer: Yes.
Note that Zombie Jerky is made by the same company that makes those Health and Mana Potion energy drinks, which taste terrible. I have a Health Potion sitting on my kitchen counter. My boyfriend and I bought it, each took a sip, and then sealed it again with a thousand-year curse. It looks pretty cool, though.
The latest YA mega-sensation poised to vie for Twilight’s throne is the book I Am Number Four
, the first of a new alien-teen-superhero series authored by the enigmatic “Pittacus Lore.” Note that while the book doesn’t launch until August 3rd, Michael Bay is already producing the movie (in conjunction with Steven Spielberg).
But just who is Pittacus Lore? According to HarperCollins’s author page:
Pittacus Lore is Lorien’s ruling Elder. He has been on Earth for the last twelve years, preparing for the war that will decide Earth’s fate. His whereabouts are unknown.
You see, the book is actually written by one of the characters in the book. Neat! Crazy! Mind-bending!
Except Pittacus Lore is actually James Frey, the notorious liar and drug addict whose “memoir” A Million Little Pieces was revealed to be more fiction than non-fiction (after Oprah embarrassingly lauded Mr. Frey for his gritty honesty).
So, y’know, just keep that in mind: Pittacus Lore is James Frey. James Frey is Pittacus Lore. The same James Frey who scammed Oprah and millions of naive memoir-readers. The same James Frey who somehow still has a literary career, utilizing various pseudonyms to publish shitty books. That James Frey.
In case you were wondering, here’s how your typical Zombie Apocalypse works. Note that the proper way to handle infected loved ones is with a shotgun, not honeyed words.
Just found out about another awesome all-things-zombie site, Zombie Command. If you’re looking for zombie sightings in popular culture—zombie games, zombie movies, zombie songs, zombie videos!—be sure to check it out.
After a month of hard work, the toxic chemicals video I created for the EDF is live. Check it out on the front page of the Not a Guinea Pig site.
What I love about animation is how it tests your senses of timing and pacing, skills you can carry to other creative endeavors. Animating gives me a better feel for how to pace dialogue, scenes, and scene changes, and even helps me write better transitions—you learn how to switch tracks while keeping the audience hooked, how to create a sense of inescapable momentum.
And design is just innately satisfying to me. I’ve always had a compulsion to beautify things, particularly the display of information—to make it more attractive so people pay attention. I have this ridiculous idea in the back of my mind that when it comes time to publish my first book, I’ll be able to convince them to let me design the cover, even though that’s something authors usually have zero control over. Hopefully I’ll be able to supply enough evidence of my design ability to sway them. :P
So, now it’s back to the word mill.
You don’t learn how to succeed by listening to advice. You learn how to succeed by making mistakes. Advice is just someone else’s story of their mistakes. At some point you need to stop listening to their stories, and write your own.