What is Experimental Literature? {pt. 2}

Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin
To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess:
Having commenc’d, be a divine in shew,
Yet level at the end of every art,
And live and die in Aristotle’s works.

— Christopher Marlowe, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus (1604)

One way to think about experimental literature would be to consider it in relation to conventional literature. Which begs the question: what is conventional literature? The answer to that question is much easier than the answer to the titular question of this post. The answer is this: conventional literature is that which follows Aristotelian prescription. Plain and simple. So if you want to know what experimental literature is, you might begin by considering it to be that which deviates from Aristotelian prescription.

Brian Evenson illuminates the problem of Aristotle’s suffocating influence in this great essay called “Notes on Fiction and Philosophy” in this amazing collection of literary criticism called Fiction’s Present: Situating Contemporary Narrative Innovation (SUNY Press, 2008), at the beginning of which he suggests:

[T]o move to an understanding of late twentieth- early twenty-first-century fiction, the first step is to move out of the fourth century BC: to let go of the Aristotelian notions that still dominate most thinking about fiction in writing workshops today…Discussions of setting, plot, character, theme, and so on, their parameters derived from Aristotle, seem hardly to have advanced beyond New Criticism’s neo-Aristotelianism; and when a workshop student says “I didn’t find the character believable,” usually the model for believability is firmly entrenched in nineteenth-century notions of consistency that have probably less to do with how real twenty-first century people act (not to mention nineteenth-century people) than with specific, and often dated, literary conventions.

I’d like to use this quote from Evenson as my jumping off point.

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Random / 59 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 2:37 pm

Craft Notes / 15 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 1:56 pm

@ The New York Observer, Matthew Hunte weighs in on the newly printed 20 Under 40: Stories from the New Yorker anthology: “Instead of highlighting new talent, they inadvertently end up championing precocity and nurturing a culture where early recognition and promise are conflated with achievement.”

Poor Claudia 4 ++

The fourth issue of Portlandian magazine and press Poor Claudia is alive:

More specs and info and purchase points are available here.

Or, if you are smart and thrifty, you can involve yourself in the PC Subscription Package, which includes for $30 everything PC will release in 2011, including two issues of the journal, chapbooks, nonbooks, broadsides, and more.

While you’re at it, the back catalog is teeming, and all beautiful crafted objects: James Gendron’s Money Poems and Emily Kendal Frey’s Frances are both in particular fantastic.

Presses / 3 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 12:54 pm

“There Are Three Dead People In Me”

Emily Kendal Frey is a poet I like. She lives in Portland, Oregon and teaches at Portland Community College. She is the author three chapbooks: Airport (Blue Hour 2009), Frances (Poor Claudia 2010), and The New Planet (Mindmade Books 2010). A full-length collection, The Grief Performance, was selected by Rae Armantrout for the 2010 Cleveland State University First Book Prize, and is forthcoming in the spring of 2011. A new series, Sorrow Arrow, appears in regular installments at Ink Node.

Here is a new poem, [A HISTORY OF KNIVES]:

When I met you we were the shape of salt shakers. I married my dad and threw him in the ocean. I dragged him along the bottom as he filled with salt. I opened my legs and a grasshopper was there. Your first home was a house on stilts with butter dishes READ MORE >

Random / 13 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 7:06 am

RACCOONS

Tonight I was at the house of a friend whose house I’d never been to before and there was a noise in the back yard, and my friend said, “Want to meet the raccoons?”  So we went to the back yard.

They were watching and waiting for food


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Random / 24 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 6:14 am

First Sentences or Paragraphs #4: Norton Anthology of Short Fiction A-G Edition

[series note: This post is the fourth of five, in a week-long series examining  first sentences or paragraphs. It’s not my intention to be prescriptive about what kinds of first sentences writers ought to be writing. Instead, I hope to simply take a look at five sets of first sentences for the purpose of thinking about how they introduce the reader to the story or novel to which they belong. I plan to post them without commentary, as one might post a photograph or painting, and open up the comment threads to your observations as readers. Some questions that interest me and might interest you include: 1. How is the first sentence (or paragraph — I’ll include some of those, too, since some first sentences require the next few sentences to even be available for this kind of analysis) interesting or not interesting on grounds of language? 2. Does the first sentence introduce any particular (or general feeling of) trouble or conflict or dissonance or tension into the story that makes the reader want to keep reading? 3. Does the first sentence do anything to immerse the reader in the donnee, the ground rules, the world of the story, those orienting questions such as who speaks, when and where are we in space and time, etc.? 4. Since the first sentence, in the wild, doesn’t exist in the contextless manner in which I’ve presented these, in what kinds of ways does examining them like this create false ideas about the uses and functions of first sentences? What kinds of things ought first sentences be doing? What kinds of things do first sentences not do often enough? (It seems likely to me that you will have competing ideas about first sentences. Please offer them here. Every idea or observation gets our good attention.) The sentence/paragraph sets we’ve been or will be observing: 1. first sentences from Mary Miller’s Big World; 2. first sentences from physically large novels; 3. the first sentences from every book written by Philip Roth; 4. first sentences from the Norton Anthology of Short Fiction; 5. first sentences from Best European Fiction 2010.]

“The slaughter hasn’t started yet.”

– Lee K. Abbott, “One of Star Wars, One of Doom”

“That was the year Hunca Bubba changed his name.”

– Toni Cade Bambara, “Gorilla, My Love”

“What he first noticed about Detroit and therefore America was the smell.”

– Charles Baxter, “The Disappeared”

“Alberto Perera, librarian, granted no credibility to police profiles of dangerous persons.”

– Gina Berriault, “Who Is It Can Tell Me Who I Am?”

“A man stood upon a railroad bridge in Northern Alabama, looking down into swift waters twenty feet below.”

– Ambrose Bierce, “An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge”

“The visible work left by this novelist is easily and briefly enumerated.”

Jorge Luis Borges, “Pierre Menard, Author of the QuixoteREAD MORE >

Random / 8 Comments
December 15th, 2010 / 3:58 am

As a follow up to my earlier post on the censorship of Fire in my Belly, someone has gotten a hold of the entire 20 minute Wojnarowicz Super8 film & uploaded it to Vimeo:

A Fire in My Belly from ppow_gallery on Vimeo.

2 things i’m wondering

1.      I met with a student to give advice on his MFA sample writing portfolio. Since I read these portfolios for my university and wrote one for my MFA, I felt ‘qualified,’ but with Tao Lin quotation marks. Some of the student’s poems had images and word-play. Tropes. Alliteration, at least one spondee. The first page was strong. I told him, “Good. You showed on the first page that you have read poetry and care some about words. The first page is important. Thoughts are being made.” I said, “You have images immediately. A lot of people sending in won’t have any images. They won’t get in. A lot of people like to write poetry, not poems. I mean they write about pride or love…” (trailing off. not quite sure what I meant here)

Content: The poems were about hangovers, beer, marijuana. I said, “These are sort of derivative ‘beat’ poems. That’s OK, write what you want once you’re in graduate school, but I think you should play the game a little. Get in grad school first.” I told him many readers would groan when they read poems about hangovers, beer, marijuana. “People are going to think you read some Bukowski. They’ll think you’re a type.” The phone rang 4 times and I ignored it. I said, “Do you have poems about any others things?” He did. Put some of those poems in the sample, I advised. I said again, “This isn’t a criticism of your work. Any subject is fine. Write what you want. I’m just trying to help you get into grad school.”

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Behind the Scenes & Random / 86 Comments
December 14th, 2010 / 4:42 pm

Kimora Lee on Writing

“I am anorexic.”

“After  I had my babies I was thick.”

“I’m the boss. I don’t need the money. I’m filthy fucking rich!”

“My life is very—big!

“Tell Deebo to bring me my supplements!”

“She felt my titty!”

“It’s a state of being.”

“I will beat a bitch’s ass!

“Let me take off my glasses…I want you to see my eyes. I will beat a bitch’s ass!”

“I’m a girl’s girl. I’m a woman’s woman. I’m a cool girl. I’m not a bitch. There’s a difference. And the girls that try to take him are bitches. And I know every one of them in my mind.”

“I wear fur and if somebody throws shit on me I’m gonna whup your ass! I wish somebody would throw shit on me.”

“I seen your titty, but I haven’t seen you.”

“Literally. Literally…I will drag a bitch—drag her through this dirt, literally.”

“We are going to kick his ass and eat his leg.”

Craft Notes / 4 Comments
December 14th, 2010 / 4:05 pm