Standing Ovation For Maureen Tkacik’s “Gladwell for Dummies”
Tkacik’s indictment of Gladwell is incisive, epic, merciless, and right. It runs a full seven web pages and is worth reading every word. Now, the next time you see someone reading Blink and reflexively go to slap it out of their hand, you’ll be able to explain why you did it. Here’s a choice gleaning from fairly late in the piece. Click through to start at the beginning.
Also, it’s worth looking at this piece in light of this website’s ongoing discussion of what good criticism can or should look like. The piece is occasioned by the publication of Gladwell’s new book, Outliers, but it could hardly be considered a mere “review” of that book. And yet, it’s not a NY/LRB-style essay, where the book(s) provide a sort of anchor for a larger discussion about something else. Tkacik seems completely at ease in Gladwell’s catalogue, moving with an apparent lack of effort through and between his books. She has a clear thesis that is developed, amplified, and otherwise nuanced over the course of the essay. A writer who disagrees vehemently with Tkacik’s thesis and all her supporting arguments–or a writer who couldn’t care less about Gladwell one way or the other–still has a lot to gain from reading this essay. It’s a stand-out example of a particular kind of long-form criticism.
November 7th, 2009 / 3:45 pm
Fourteen Hills, WTF?
Fourteen Hills, I respect you, you had a cool anthology, and I’ve sent you stuff before because I like you (and will probably send you stuff again), but couldn’t you have just pretended this particular 775-day form rejection ‘got lost in the mail’? I mean, I understand shit sometimes falls behind the mini-fridge, but two years? Good grief – next time, just take the SASE and use it for yourself. Nobody will ever know.
What’s great about this is I can’t tell who has the better sense of humor: the author who reported this rejection on Duotrope or whoever on your staff decided to write this bit of copy: ‘Fourteen Hills is a testimony to the fact that independent, innovative and experimental literature is alive and thriving.’
Bye Mean Week
That’s that. I had fun a little. People are crazy. Sometimes there are ideas. Thanks for playing.
This weekend is Halloween. Eat some candy? Get drunk if you have to. Wear a costume? I’m thinking of going as William Burroughs, if I go. Might need a fedora and some glasses and come stains and cat hair on a suit, that’s all. What will you be?
This weekend I am reading Thomas Bernhard’s Wittgenstein’s Nephew, which just came out in a new version from Vintage. It feels nice in another, Bernhardian kind of way.
I am also reading Heather Christle’s The Difficult Farm, which also just came out, and which we will run excerpts from and love for all next week. After Mean Week, comes Heather Christle Week. I think it will serve as a fine rainbow.
Another announcement is forthcoming. In the meantime, take your blood around, install a doorstop, and enjoy.
Ambidextrous Authors and Non-Ambidextrous Authors
AMBIDEXTROUS AUTHORS
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Dorothy Parker, Toni Morrison, and Raymond Carver belong to a group of ambidextrous authors who have the facility to place both hands at the sides of their respective cheeks simultaneously. During photo shoots, they are keen on demonstrating this ability. Their adroit use of two hands at the keyboard have led to prolific and sprawling careers. Their contracts stipulate that they are “paid by the palm,” which means more gin n’ tonic for all (some pills too). Some have suggested that they misinterpret the phrase “turn the other cheek,” and are struggling to turn both at once. Jesus has nothing to do with this business; Zion is crowded as it is. The ambidextrous are witty, black, and depressed — but never at the same time.
Who Is Justin Taylor?
I’m not about to tell you, except for this: Justin Taylor is very dear to me, and I to him. He even dedicated his–wait for it–chapbook to me. No joke. Some days, we are engaged to be married. We’ll have an early-morning wedding, family only, with a luncheon of cold meats and fowls following. But you don’t know me too well, either, so none of that info should really affect what I’m soliciting from you.
Knowing Justin heaps better than any one of you, I always love to read all the inaccurate insults hurled at him by HTMLGiant peeps. But there haven’t been nearly enough this Mean Week, for my liking. I would like to provide one place, right here, to collect all the wild misconceptions, ad-hominem attacks, and elaborate speculations. I’m especially interested in the latter. It seems that people here have especially detailed mental images of who this man is. Please share, right here, at the end of Mean Week. Don’t hold back. It’ll be more fun than hating on Tao Lin (are they really roommates!?!?!), I promise, because Mr. Taylor is more truly our own.
I’d Probably Get More Replies if This Was About College Rankings
This may be weak for mean week, but of late, after catching up with an old friend, I’ve been thinking about college majors and their relationship to what we write. Most people I meet now assume I was an English major, but I was history. Here’s the mildly mean part–I sometimes feel slightly, unjustifiably superior to writers who were English majors–it’s as if I mastered (or, I guess, bachelored) a whole nuther thing first, and they didn’t.
I know that college majors rarely relate directly to future career choice. But four years is a long time to think about something in a serious way. My history coursework was far more rigorous than my MFA work, and my history thesis was much more grueling as well. Somehow, knowing a lot about torture during the Algerian War must inform my writing. All of it does even more for my reading, probably. Context!
So, what did y’all major in? What relationship do you think it has to your writing, if any? If you were in English major, do you think that helps or hurts you, or neither?
Diameter of a Circle Jerk
The recent “Bubble Boy” hoax may be read as an example of how people are, or wish to be, famous for being famous. Think of “New York” (person) from Flavor of Love who got her own show for being an awesome ho, or Octomom, or those bitches from The Hills or The Kardashians. People work on being famous instead of just working. These examples are “lowbrow,” but we are not exempt.
I have a hard time commenting on someone’s blog, or even this website, telling so and so I really liked their post or their story or whatever. If my feelings are very strong, I email them. If I can’t find their email, I say to myself: “This person will do fine in life without getting an email from me,” or “it should not matter to this person if I like their story — they should be writing on behalf of the story, not its reception.” And it all fits perfect in my head: 1) writers write, 2) readers read, and 3) everybody lives a nice modest life, 4) in relative obscurity, and 5) maybe one day, if applicable, a writer may be recognized, however mildly, for their contribution to literature.
Seen this Movie Before: All Publicists Go to Heaven….Don’t They?
And it isn’t even MEAN WEEK at the Rumpus! Click through anywhere to read the whole sick amazing thing.
Elitism: An Encomium
If you are the among the best at something, who can blame you for wanting to associate with other people who are among the best at things, too? Like, if you’ve got the best tits, why shouldn’t you want to date whoever has the best hoodies, or become best friends with whoever’s got the best pepperoni? Why, at HTMLGiant, is elitism such a dirty word–and not the good kind that gets you cred in the comments section?
“Elite” means the choice part. The cream. The fruit. It seems as if among certain cohorts of writers and thinking people, this one included, some kind of stigma is attached to being, doing, or having the best, even if that superiority is hard-won and merit-based. And it’s even worse to demonstrate an affinity for others who you deem to be the best. Editors are called elitist if they publish the same writers over and over again or send form rejections. But an editor by definition must be selective, and choosy. Maybe we would choose differently than they would, but that’s why we all must figure out which publications we trust.
When someone cries elitist, to me it just sounds like envy at not feeling like a part of the elite. The envy is understandable! It’s nice here in the creamy, fruity elite. Wish I could extend an invitation.