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This Just In: Poetry, Fiction & Literary Magazines Are Still Dying
A recent Mother Jones article by Ted Genoways, editor of Virgina Quarterly Review, suggests literature is dying because of the explosion of MFA programs and in turn, literary magazines and writers who look inward rather than outward in their storytelling. The really interesting conversation takes place in the comments where anonymous commenters and folks like Matt Bell and Gina Frangello both expand the discussion and take Genoways to task quite eloquently for his myopic and rather privileged outlook from within academia and his willful ignorance of the independent publishing community.
I have said it before but I will say it again. I remain weary of the ongoing, lofty prognostications about the death of literature, literary magazines, the printed word and so on. The conversation is getting so very tedious. Literature is dying the longest death in the history of deaths. It is amazing, really. If literature is dying, it is now time for a mercy killing so we can bury the dead, allow the dead to rest in peace, and surrender to the five stages of grief. I will never understand why magazines continue to publish articles which look backward rather than forward, in no way cover new ground or offer practical solutions that are grounded in hope rather than pessimism.
As Bell points out, Genoways makes more than $130,000 a year (state school, public information). I don’t care about his salary, nor do I begrudge him that salary and while it is a considerable sum, it is not fuck you money. I do think, however, that the number speaks to one of the biggest problems with university-affiliated literary magazines–they are often bloated with administrative costs. It is a real shame to see some of the most well-established literary magazines folding but I also think that perhaps the shelter of academia has allowed the editors of these publications to believe a great deal of money is needed to produce a great magazine. Many of the independent magazines I know, most of which are excellent publications, are able to put out 1-4 issues a year for less than $5,000 and many have the same print runs as some of the more established literary magazines. The same writers who submit to VQR and Prairie Schooner and The [insert whatever] Review also submit to smaller, lesser known magazines. In terms of quality, it can no longer be said that the best writing is exclusively being published in academic literary magazines. I don’t know that it is the academic literary magazine that is in danger as much as the academic literary editors whose salaries universities (and yes, wrongly) feel are expendable.
Genoways writes:
Back in the 1930s, magazines like the Yale Review or VQR saw maybe 500 submissions in a year; today, we receive more like 15,000. This is due partly to a shift in our culture from a society that believed in hierarchy to one that believes in a level playing field. This is good—to a point. The reality is that not everyone can be a doctor, not everyone can be a professional athlete, and not everyone can be a writer. You may be a precious snowflake, but if you can’t express your individuality in sterling prose, I don’t want to read about it.
There’s a lot of anger and bitterness in that statement. I find it a little elitist. Perhaps not everyone can be a published writer, but I find it bizarre and kind of sad to assert that not everyone can be a writer. Dream killer much? I know VQR receives a ridiculous number of submissions, but as any editor can likely attest, 14,500 of those submissions can be rejected quickly because they’re simply not good or they don’t fit the magazine’s aesthetic or they tweak an editorial peeve so really you’re dealing with 500 submissions a year. That’s a little more manageable. I think it’s all about attitude. So many editors lately seem to really resent their submission queues and are burnt out on writers. I understand the sentiment, have felt it at times, but there’s a solution for writer fatigue in academia. It’s called a sabbatical.
Then there’s a bit of math:
If those programs admit even 5 to 10 new students per year, then they will cumulatively produce some 60,000 new writers in the coming decade. Yet the average literary magazine now prints fewer than 1,500 copies. In short, no one is reading all this newly produced literature—not even the writers themselves. And with that in mind, writers have become less and less interested in reaching out to readers—and less and less encouraged by their teachers to try.
I do not know why it matters how many new writers are being produced and if we want to worry about a glut of writers, then we should probably start panicking because, as shocking as it may be to hear this, not all writers come from MFA programs so there are likely hundreds of thousands of writers out there mucking things up. Genoways is not alone in his editorial anger that only writers are reading literary magazines. It is indeed frustrating that the American public is largely disinterested in literary magazines but if, as Genoways points out, there are 60,000 new writers being produced in the next decade by MFA programs alone, that is, theoretically, more than enough readers to support the many literary magazines out there. I know writers don’t subscribe to every magazine to which they submit but I know of few writers who do not subscribe to any magazines at all.
Genoways offers some thoughts about what writers are doing wrong:
Indeed, most American writers seem to have forgotten how to write about big issues—as if giving two shits about the world has gotten crushed under the boot sole of postmodernism.
As an aside, I submitted a big issue story to VQR about Haiti. It was rejected last month. I know why the story was rejected, am totally cool with it but I’m just saying… these kinds of sweeping statements are inaccurate. Writers do write about big issues, all the time. Even if writers aren’t focusing on big issues, I love reading about small issues. I read to escape. I am not ignoring the wars or the goings on of the world but I don’t need fiction to educate me on world issues. Frankly, at a time like this, when I am painfully aware of the world’s tragedies, it has been reading books like Scott Mclanahan’s Stories II, for example, which is a grand grand book about small issues and in its own way also about big issues, that have helped me keep my shit together. Sometimes people don’t look outward because things suck out there.
Finally, Genoways leaves us with a prescription:
With so many newspapers and magazines closing, with so many commercial publishers looking to nonprofit models, a few bold university presidents could save American literature, reshape journalism, and maybe even rescue public discourse from the cable shout shows and the blogosphere. At the same time, young writers will have to swear off navel-gazing in favor of an outward glance onto a wrecked and lovely world worthy and in need of the attention of intelligent, sensitive writers. I’m not calling for more pundits—God knows we’ve got plenty. I’m saying that writers need to venture out from under the protective wing of academia, to put themselves and their work on the line. Stop being so damned dainty and polite. Treat writing like your lifeblood instead of your livelihood. And for Christ’s sake, write something we might want to read.
Hello, irony.
I won’t even bother with the statement about the protective wing of academia but if Genoways is reading dainty and polite writing, he might be looking in the wrong places. If he wants non-dainty, somewhat rude writing, he might look here, and here, and here, and here, and here just to name a few magazines who consistently publish great, thought-provoking work.
For those of us who are not writer famous, writing is only about lifeblood because there is certainly no money this. Ultimately, his critique seems to be directed at a very narrow and elite segment of the writing community.
What I find most interesting is that Genoways feels that the salvation of American literature must come at the hands of the Academy. I do not think that will happen. As universities continue to slash budgets and cut costs, the university-based literary magazine will only become more endangered. That doesn’t mean that literature will die, however. It only means that the literary magazine will have to adapt and evolve and, perhaps, learn from the independent publishing community on how to passionately publish and promote excellent big and small writing without the beneficence of the university.
Thoughts?
Tags: Death, Mother Jones, Virginia Quarterly Review
as your title suggests (and made me laugh out loud) i think the greatest thing that literature could ever accomplish is to be forever dying.
as your title suggests (and made me laugh out loud) i think the greatest thing that literature could ever accomplish is to be forever dying.
I think you’re closer to agreeing with TG than you think you are. When he says “not everyone can be a writer,” he means it in the sense of “profesisonal writer,” which is why it comes in a sequence with “doctor” and “professional athlete.” I think it’s unfair to burden his argument with your sense that “everyone has a story to tell,” which may or may not be true but in any case is irrelevant to the point he’s making, which is, I think, a highly salient one.
Basically, what he’s saying is that it’s hard to have a writing career these days. Okay, so you box Ted’s ears for not knowing about dogzplot (or assuming he doesn’t–he could; but okay, we know he doesn’t) but you can’t eat street cred, and so for anyone trying to make their living at this thing, the fact that dogzplot exists is not a sufficient counter-weight to the fact that the Atlantic fiction page doesn’t.
With all due respect, I think that it is willful ignorance on your own part to magic away the numbers that Genoways presents– he tells you he deals with 15k submissions a year. You basically tell him “no, you don’t.” I’m looking at the VQR website right now (first time for everything, I guess) and going through the contents pages of their last five issues. Looks to me like they don’t publish more than 2, maybe 3 pieces of short fiction per issue. This means they publish–at best–a dozen stories per year. PER YEAR. I think the truly astounding thing is that they read submissions at all. Were I sitting in TG’s chair, I’m not sure I would bother.
Look at the VQR right now. The current issue is a theme/focus issue on North Africa. The top story is a report from Liberia. In fact, pretty much every issue from the past several years features a “report from”-type of travel journalism. But just take the Liberia guy. That guy probably spent a year on that piece–at least. Researching, lining the trip up, going, running around, coming back, putting it all together. Somebody had to pay for all of that, and with all due respect to the several journals you named, when featherproof can fund and publish a from-the-field dispatch about the relationship between structural inequality and tendencies toward radical religiosity in the Uighur Muslim region of China, then we can talk about those two institutions like they are interchangeable.
Which, incidentally, brings me to the spot where I break with Genoways. The call for an issues-based literature smacks of the self-pride (and self-interest) of a guy who just published a North Africa issue of his magazine. Basically, it seems that his magazine already IS the change he wants to see in the world–and hey, bully for him! But I guess you’re not allowed to turn your Mother Jones op-ed into a full-page advertorial for yourself, so he’s counting on the readership to connect the dots on its own. Incidentally, Charles Antin, whose short story “The Iraq Show” was published in VQR Fall ’08, may be dismayed to find out that no good fiction has yet emerged from the Iraq war.
For all its flaws, I think it’s an interesting piece of writing. Genoways touches on something terribly important, but never quite gets around to saying it, at least not in the way I’d like to see it said– if fiction wishes to speak to anyone other than itself, it needs to be where everyone else is. Literary magazines served this end to the extent that the culture-at-large payed them some attention (see the Yale Review example in TG’s piece). Since that doesn’t happen anymore, literature needs to be where culture is– in the NY’ker, shoe-horned between that long article about eco-stove technology and whatever James Wood’s bitch with life is this week. If this portal (speaking collectively here about the fiction pages of the glossies) is also to be shut, then we are left out of the culture entirely. And yes, we are capable, as the poets have done, of creating our own alternative culture, but the ragged-but-right charm of Shtetl life is no substitute for having the key to the city. It seems to me that Genoways, in his managing of the VQR, is attempting to foster a culture(s)-wide arena, he’s creating a space wherein journalism, graphic art, fiction, poetry, and other things are juxtaposed, afforded the opportunities and challenges of proximity, etc. There’s merit in that philosophy, and not just a little bit either.
I think you’re closer to agreeing with TG than you think you are. When he says “not everyone can be a writer,” he means it in the sense of “profesisonal writer,” which is why it comes in a sequence with “doctor” and “professional athlete.” I think it’s unfair to burden his argument with your sense that “everyone has a story to tell,” which may or may not be true but in any case is irrelevant to the point he’s making, which is, I think, a highly salient one.
Basically, what he’s saying is that it’s hard to have a writing career these days. Okay, so you box Ted’s ears for not knowing about dogzplot (or assuming he doesn’t–he could; but okay, we know he doesn’t) but you can’t eat street cred, and so for anyone trying to make their living at this thing, the fact that dogzplot exists is not a sufficient counter-weight to the fact that the Atlantic fiction page doesn’t.
With all due respect, I think that it is willful ignorance on your own part to magic away the numbers that Genoways presents– he tells you he deals with 15k submissions a year. You basically tell him “no, you don’t.” I’m looking at the VQR website right now (first time for everything, I guess) and going through the contents pages of their last five issues. Looks to me like they don’t publish more than 2, maybe 3 pieces of short fiction per issue. This means they publish–at best–a dozen stories per year. PER YEAR. I think the truly astounding thing is that they read submissions at all. Were I sitting in TG’s chair, I’m not sure I would bother.
Look at the VQR right now. The current issue is a theme/focus issue on North Africa. The top story is a report from Liberia. In fact, pretty much every issue from the past several years features a “report from”-type of travel journalism. But just take the Liberia guy. That guy probably spent a year on that piece–at least. Researching, lining the trip up, going, running around, coming back, putting it all together. Somebody had to pay for all of that, and with all due respect to the several journals you named, when featherproof can fund and publish a from-the-field dispatch about the relationship between structural inequality and tendencies toward radical religiosity in the Uighur Muslim region of China, then we can talk about those two institutions like they are interchangeable.
Which, incidentally, brings me to the spot where I break with Genoways. The call for an issues-based literature smacks of the self-pride (and self-interest) of a guy who just published a North Africa issue of his magazine. Basically, it seems that his magazine already IS the change he wants to see in the world–and hey, bully for him! But I guess you’re not allowed to turn your Mother Jones op-ed into a full-page advertorial for yourself, so he’s counting on the readership to connect the dots on its own. Incidentally, Charles Antin, whose short story “The Iraq Show” was published in VQR Fall ’08, may be dismayed to find out that no good fiction has yet emerged from the Iraq war.
For all its flaws, I think it’s an interesting piece of writing. Genoways touches on something terribly important, but never quite gets around to saying it, at least not in the way I’d like to see it said– if fiction wishes to speak to anyone other than itself, it needs to be where everyone else is. Literary magazines served this end to the extent that the culture-at-large payed them some attention (see the Yale Review example in TG’s piece). Since that doesn’t happen anymore, literature needs to be where culture is– in the NY’ker, shoe-horned between that long article about eco-stove technology and whatever James Wood’s bitch with life is this week. If this portal (speaking collectively here about the fiction pages of the glossies) is also to be shut, then we are left out of the culture entirely. And yes, we are capable, as the poets have done, of creating our own alternative culture, but the ragged-but-right charm of Shtetl life is no substitute for having the key to the city. It seems to me that Genoways, in his managing of the VQR, is attempting to foster a culture(s)-wide arena, he’s creating a space wherein journalism, graphic art, fiction, poetry, and other things are juxtaposed, afforded the opportunities and challenges of proximity, etc. There’s merit in that philosophy, and not just a little bit either.
Brilliant critique!
If anything is ‘dying’, it’s bitter elitism. As a teacher, I find students ARE interested in literature, but literature that is exciting (i.e. not boring) and deals with a wide range of issues, big to small. Heck, even some great lit doesn’t even deal with issues. Sometimes great language can be fun too. Sometimes bad lit can be good too as a teaching tool.
The death of literature is a lie. It should be called the migration of literature from print to digital. The Internet may mean death to the literary (print) star, (or the print journal editor) but now we have the possibility of adding millions of new voices (brilliant and some not so brilliant stars) to our new collectivized-digital-lit-whiz-bang-galaxy. Editors should focus their energy on expanding the appeal of literature, in all forms and in all locations, and spend less time telling us we’re all dying. We already know that! We should be focused on inviting readers and writers (who have or have not MFAs) into this galaxy, and less time judging them as not worthy. Stop pissing them off.
Brilliant critique!
If anything is ‘dying’, it’s bitter elitism. As a teacher, I find students ARE interested in literature, but literature that is exciting (i.e. not boring) and deals with a wide range of issues, big to small. Heck, even some great lit doesn’t even deal with issues. Sometimes great language can be fun too. Sometimes bad lit can be good too as a teaching tool.
The death of literature is a lie. It should be called the migration of literature from print to digital. The Internet may mean death to the literary (print) star, (or the print journal editor) but now we have the possibility of adding millions of new voices (brilliant and some not so brilliant stars) to our new collectivized-digital-lit-whiz-bang-galaxy. Editors should focus their energy on expanding the appeal of literature, in all forms and in all locations, and spend less time telling us we’re all dying. We already know that! We should be focused on inviting readers and writers (who have or have not MFAs) into this galaxy, and less time judging them as not worthy. Stop pissing them off.
To follow Neil, I agree one aspect of having universities linked with lit mags Genoways seems to neglect here–the students themselves. This semester I am working with students on a lit mag. So the students read all the poetry and prose, then must argue, edit, ask themselves what THEY value about this work. Then layout, design, and what that world means, those values, the science, art, intuition, sensibilities, on and on. Working as a group to present this artifact. Etc. The process itself is a form of art, too.
Also I think people read more than most think. CW where I teach is vibrant, growing major, and the undergrads form their own reading groups, etc. They seem to value literature–online or not–and I don’t see it going anywhere.
To follow Neil, I agree one aspect of having universities linked with lit mags Genoways seems to neglect here–the students themselves. This semester I am working with students on a lit mag. So the students read all the poetry and prose, then must argue, edit, ask themselves what THEY value about this work. Then layout, design, and what that world means, those values, the science, art, intuition, sensibilities, on and on. Working as a group to present this artifact. Etc. The process itself is a form of art, too.
Also I think people read more than most think. CW where I teach is vibrant, growing major, and the undergrads form their own reading groups, etc. They seem to value literature–online or not–and I don’t see it going anywhere.
“And yes, we are capable, as the poets have done, of creating our own alternative culture, but the ragged-but-right charm of Shtetl life is no substitute for having the key to the city.”
Why is it no substitute? Here’s the reason I started writing fiction, from Blanchot’s mouth: “Writing thus becomes a terrible responsibility. Invisibly, writing is called upon to undo the discourse in which, however unhappy we believe ourselves to be, we who have it at our disposal remain comfortably installed. From this point of view writing is the greatest violence, for it transgresses the law, every law, and also its own.”
The glossies don’t want “us” precisely because they are no longer for “us”; the event-site of fiction is shifting ground. Should any great piece of writing–prose, poetry, journalism–be sandwiched between ads for shoes, clocks, or whatever the fuck they’re selling these days? We have reached a pivotal point in publishing where fiction can be anything, and perhaps more importantly, anywhere. To return to the womb, as it were–the glossies–would be an act of regression, would undermine the motion of contemporary, relevant art.
“And yes, we are capable, as the poets have done, of creating our own alternative culture, but the ragged-but-right charm of Shtetl life is no substitute for having the key to the city.”
Why is it no substitute? Here’s the reason I started writing fiction, from Blanchot’s mouth: “Writing thus becomes a terrible responsibility. Invisibly, writing is called upon to undo the discourse in which, however unhappy we believe ourselves to be, we who have it at our disposal remain comfortably installed. From this point of view writing is the greatest violence, for it transgresses the law, every law, and also its own.”
The glossies don’t want “us” precisely because they are no longer for “us”; the event-site of fiction is shifting ground. Should any great piece of writing–prose, poetry, journalism–be sandwiched between ads for shoes, clocks, or whatever the fuck they’re selling these days? We have reached a pivotal point in publishing where fiction can be anything, and perhaps more importantly, anywhere. To return to the womb, as it were–the glossies–would be an act of regression, would undermine the motion of contemporary, relevant art.
Justin,
I guess I feel like the project of relevance, then, should be an editorial and and curatorial one, and not one for writers, for whom I think to write with any particular audience in mind is creatively toxic. While I get that Genoways sees a much broader pool of submissions than I will ever see, and so his comments must be based upon something, it’s his overgeneralizations and shaming of an entire generation of writers that makes me most uncomfortable.
Also — it may because of my problematically limited knowledge of lit theory (which I’m hoping to do something abt this year) — but the bashing of postmodernism mystifies me w/ relation to his argument. If anything, the modernism of folks like Woolf, Proust, Miller, Lowry, some Joyce and Fitzgerald, etc. seems to me far more concerned with navel-gazing than postmodern folks like Pychon, Barthelme, DFW, who absolutely take on so-called “big issues.” I feel like discomfort with postmodernism, as I have understood it in the past, is less about discomfort with issues addressed than discomfort with how they’re addressed, so discomfort with fracture, w/ contingent/contextual truths and experiences and w/ the rejection of Enlightenment/”universalist” principles and philosophies, and so this makes me feel like perhaps Genoways wants us to not only take on “big issues,” but also to “make sense” of them in a very traditional sense, through grand organizing theories that I believe ultimately prove untenable.
Also, as a Queer person who writes, the very expression “big issues” makes me bristle a bit, insomuch as old-school leftism only believed/believes (as there are still plenty of folks operating out of this paradigm) issues related to political economy were valid and “big,” and issues related to so-called “identity politics” of race, gender & sexuality were understood as irrelevant and/or divisive. And in a way, I think Rox’s comments abt McClanahan are relevant here, insomuch as Appalachian folks have been subalterns within the U.S, and their issues/experiences constructed as “small,” as niche or fringe. It makes me wonder what Genoways considers sufficiently “big.” And is there any place in his grand vision for the project of contemporary literature for my own compulsion to question or destabilize the “normal” re: gender and sexuality? (I want to be clear I’m not asking, “Would Genoways publish me?” Rather, I am am trying to use my own interests to pose a larger question abt what can be understood to constitute “big issues.”)
Justin,
I guess I feel like the project of relevance, then, should be an editorial and and curatorial one, and not one for writers, for whom I think to write with any particular audience in mind is creatively toxic. While I get that Genoways sees a much broader pool of submissions than I will ever see, and so his comments must be based upon something, it’s his overgeneralizations and shaming of an entire generation of writers that makes me most uncomfortable.
Also — it may because of my problematically limited knowledge of lit theory (which I’m hoping to do something abt this year) — but the bashing of postmodernism mystifies me w/ relation to his argument. If anything, the modernism of folks like Woolf, Proust, Miller, Lowry, some Joyce and Fitzgerald, etc. seems to me far more concerned with navel-gazing than postmodern folks like Pychon, Barthelme, DFW, who absolutely take on so-called “big issues.” I feel like discomfort with postmodernism, as I have understood it in the past, is less about discomfort with issues addressed than discomfort with how they’re addressed, so discomfort with fracture, w/ contingent/contextual truths and experiences and w/ the rejection of Enlightenment/”universalist” principles and philosophies, and so this makes me feel like perhaps Genoways wants us to not only take on “big issues,” but also to “make sense” of them in a very traditional sense, through grand organizing theories that I believe ultimately prove untenable.
Also, as a Queer person who writes, the very expression “big issues” makes me bristle a bit, insomuch as old-school leftism only believed/believes (as there are still plenty of folks operating out of this paradigm) issues related to political economy were valid and “big,” and issues related to so-called “identity politics” of race, gender & sexuality were understood as irrelevant and/or divisive. And in a way, I think Rox’s comments abt McClanahan are relevant here, insomuch as Appalachian folks have been subalterns within the U.S, and their issues/experiences constructed as “small,” as niche or fringe. It makes me wonder what Genoways considers sufficiently “big.” And is there any place in his grand vision for the project of contemporary literature for my own compulsion to question or destabilize the “normal” re: gender and sexuality? (I want to be clear I’m not asking, “Would Genoways publish me?” Rather, I am am trying to use my own interests to pose a larger question abt what can be understood to constitute “big issues.”)
I love that Genoways says, “for Christ’s sake, write something we might want to read.” Who is WE, dude? Because for the most part, I find the stuff mainstream lit. mags publish boring and samey and I don’t want to read it. There are a few doing good things, and VQR actually happens to be one of them, IMO, but for the most part I find the stories absolutely lifeless. Talk about naval-gazing.
I think part of the problem is that a lot of those staid, stuffy mags are the most visible lit sources out there, and they’re killing enthusiasm, while others don’t know the good stuff is out there. Take my example. I don’t have an MFA. I’m a longtime writer and reader, and yes a creative writing minor, so I won’t pretend to have no writing background. But. A few years ago when I first starting trying to write, I found myself in absolute despair because I did my research and subcribed to all the “big” mags and I knew when I read them that they would never publish me. They were all chock full if realism, and frowned in experimentation, surrealism, passion, humor–basically, the stuff I liked to write and read. I thought, well, okay, I guess I have to write what they want to publish. And I tried, and the stuff I wrote sucked. Sucked. And I finally just gave up on the whole scene, or my limited view of what I thought the scene was, because I was like, why would I want to write something I wouldn’t want to read? I lived George Saunders but couldn’t figure out who would have published him when he was an unknown. I guess I thought literature was dying, for real. So I gave up for about five years, until a series of events happened that introduced me, for the first time, to the indie world of lit mags and publishing. And I couldn’t believe that all this stuff was out there, all these amazing writers and amazing books and magazines, doing such boundary-pushing, passionate, creative stuff–and I’d never even heard of any of these publications!
I went back to writing last year, and have had my faith in literature and PROGRESS in literature completely renewed because of the magazines Roxane points out and many, many more. And my
writing has started to find homes as well. And furthermore, I’ve been introducing my family and friends to many of these awesome publications and writers and books, and over and over again friends and family are thanking me and becoming regular readers and fans themselves.
My point was not to tell a long story about myself, but to help people that have maybe been immersed in this community for a long long time understand the way a relative newcomer sees the lit mag world. I am so grateful to all of you who work so hard to put out the best, most amazing work, to all of you who write stuff that’s inspiring in its originality and to all of you who read and support this work. It’s because of you that lit mags are NOT dying. My only ask, other than keep it up, would be that you not assume that what you all do and publish is of no interest to those outside of the small community. I see many people on this site express the opinion over and over again that no one except other writers is interested in what you do. And that’s just not true. Tell your family, tell your friends, give them copies of the books discussed here, and don’t let up. Don’t just tell them to read your stories. Give them print copies if magazines, send them links to stories you like, spread the word, spread the word, spread the word. Sure, most people won’t be interested, but some just need to know good writing is out there. It’s incumbent on us to stop making assumptions about what people will read, and just assume they’ll be as passionate about this stuff as we are. That’s what will save literature, and keep people reading. After all, somebody spreading the word brought me here. And I brought my husband. And he brought my sister. And she brought her friend. And so in, and so in, and so on…that’s what it takes. (Not VQR’s three stories a year.)
I love that Genoways says, “for Christ’s sake, write something we might want to read.” Who is WE, dude? Because for the most part, I find the stuff mainstream lit. mags publish boring and samey and I don’t want to read it. There are a few doing good things, and VQR actually happens to be one of them, IMO, but for the most part I find the stories absolutely lifeless. Talk about naval-gazing.
I think part of the problem is that a lot of those staid, stuffy mags are the most visible lit sources out there, and they’re killing enthusiasm, while others don’t know the good stuff is out there. Take my example. I don’t have an MFA. I’m a longtime writer and reader, and yes a creative writing minor, so I won’t pretend to have no writing background. But. A few years ago when I first starting trying to write, I found myself in absolute despair because I did my research and subcribed to all the “big” mags and I knew when I read them that they would never publish me. They were all chock full if realism, and frowned in experimentation, surrealism, passion, humor–basically, the stuff I liked to write and read. I thought, well, okay, I guess I have to write what they want to publish. And I tried, and the stuff I wrote sucked. Sucked. And I finally just gave up on the whole scene, or my limited view of what I thought the scene was, because I was like, why would I want to write something I wouldn’t want to read? I lived George Saunders but couldn’t figure out who would have published him when he was an unknown. I guess I thought literature was dying, for real. So I gave up for about five years, until a series of events happened that introduced me, for the first time, to the indie world of lit mags and publishing. And I couldn’t believe that all this stuff was out there, all these amazing writers and amazing books and magazines, doing such boundary-pushing, passionate, creative stuff–and I’d never even heard of any of these publications!
I went back to writing last year, and have had my faith in literature and PROGRESS in literature completely renewed because of the magazines Roxane points out and many, many more. And my
writing has started to find homes as well. And furthermore, I’ve been introducing my family and friends to many of these awesome publications and writers and books, and over and over again friends and family are thanking me and becoming regular readers and fans themselves.
My point was not to tell a long story about myself, but to help people that have maybe been immersed in this community for a long long time understand the way a relative newcomer sees the lit mag world. I am so grateful to all of you who work so hard to put out the best, most amazing work, to all of you who write stuff that’s inspiring in its originality and to all of you who read and support this work. It’s because of you that lit mags are NOT dying. My only ask, other than keep it up, would be that you not assume that what you all do and publish is of no interest to those outside of the small community. I see many people on this site express the opinion over and over again that no one except other writers is interested in what you do. And that’s just not true. Tell your family, tell your friends, give them copies of the books discussed here, and don’t let up. Don’t just tell them to read your stories. Give them print copies if magazines, send them links to stories you like, spread the word, spread the word, spread the word. Sure, most people won’t be interested, but some just need to know good writing is out there. It’s incumbent on us to stop making assumptions about what people will read, and just assume they’ll be as passionate about this stuff as we are. That’s what will save literature, and keep people reading. After all, somebody spreading the word brought me here. And I brought my husband. And he brought my sister. And she brought her friend. And so in, and so in, and so on…that’s what it takes. (Not VQR’s three stories a year.)
Tim, I agree. If the New Yorker began actually printing, even championing, innovative fiction–VQR, too–this might be a different story. Though I don’t necessarily think so, since institutions like TNY and VQR are monoliths of power.
I also agree re: what’s here being called “postmodernism.” The promise of postmodernism is indeed to give many, many shits about the world. Genoway is calling for a realism which has been out-of-date since its inception–a realism which is, in concept, political action rather than fiction. Which, in attempting to subvert the promise of postmodernism, is consequently subverting the promise of fiction itself.
Tim, I agree. If the New Yorker began actually printing, even championing, innovative fiction–VQR, too–this might be a different story. Though I don’t necessarily think so, since institutions like TNY and VQR are monoliths of power.
I also agree re: what’s here being called “postmodernism.” The promise of postmodernism is indeed to give many, many shits about the world. Genoway is calling for a realism which has been out-of-date since its inception–a realism which is, in concept, political action rather than fiction. Which, in attempting to subvert the promise of postmodernism, is consequently subverting the promise of fiction itself.
I agree completely. With all due respect, Justin, to say that the New Yorker, that boring old magazine that maybe 1 percent of Americans read, is the city of culture in this country is to very narrowly define culture and to not give yourself enough credit. What people do in that magazine in mostly remnants, faded glory, at this point. We need to break from them and embrace a more real, more meaningful center of culture than seeing our stories next to one of those lame cartoons.
I agree completely. With all due respect, Justin, to say that the New Yorker, that boring old magazine that maybe 1 percent of Americans read, is the city of culture in this country is to very narrowly define culture and to not give yourself enough credit. What people do in that magazine in mostly remnants, faded glory, at this point. We need to break from them and embrace a more real, more meaningful center of culture than seeing our stories next to one of those lame cartoons.
You should check out the George Saunders “Victory Lap” as I was quite surprised to see TNY
put that in print. It’s a wild story.
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/10/05/091005fi_fiction_saunders
while i don’t love EVERYTHING that TNY prints, i think they’ve put up some great work in the
past – many of the Best American Short Stories finalists/winners come from TNY and I’ve
enjoyed a lot of those stories.
You should check out the George Saunders “Victory Lap” as I was quite surprised to see TNY
put that in print. It’s a wild story.
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/10/05/091005fi_fiction_saunders
while i don’t love EVERYTHING that TNY prints, i think they’ve put up some great work in the
past – many of the Best American Short Stories finalists/winners come from TNY and I’ve
enjoyed a lot of those stories.
amen
amen
Yes. Weirdly enough, people like things that are good. The only way literature “dies” is when we refuse to accept that people might love our work, and when we refuse to give them the opportunity.
Yes. Weirdly enough, people like things that are good. The only way literature “dies” is when we refuse to accept that people might love our work, and when we refuse to give them the opportunity.
Honestly I couldn’t have less sympathy for his bitching about submissions, and the bitching of editors in general. When you get 15,000 submissions, the correct response is “thank you very much.” Yes, many of those submissions will suck, some writers will submit far too often, and some will have no idea what you want. But:
A) Editors need to shut the fuck up and be editors. I felt this way before I was one and I especially feel this way now that I help to run a magazine with a significant number of annual submissions. If we only got submissions from subscribers, or if we didn’t get the thousands of annual submissions we do, our magazine would suck. It would be awful. It’s not that hard or overwhelming with our tiny volunteer staff. VQR can have (and, apparently, afford to pay) as many readers as it needs.
B) Receiving a submission is a massive compliment. Every time. When you forget that, you need to take a break. Remember that the people sending you work are mostly doing their best. They are trying to entrust you with something vitally important on that. Spitting on them, especially from VQR’s lofty perch, makes you look like a real asshole.
C) Seriously, just be an editor.
I also find the carping about the inability to make a living on writing rather pathetic, personally, but that’s a subject for another time. The short version: If you’ve got the time to write, that’s wonderful. If you make some sandwich money on the side, that’s a small miracle. If you make a living on your work, that’s strange and absurd and beautiful. The rest of us will be fine.
Honestly I couldn’t have less sympathy for his bitching about submissions, and the bitching of editors in general. When you get 15,000 submissions, the correct response is “thank you very much.” Yes, many of those submissions will suck, some writers will submit far too often, and some will have no idea what you want. But:
A) Editors need to shut the fuck up and be editors. I felt this way before I was one and I especially feel this way now that I help to run a magazine with a significant number of annual submissions. If we only got submissions from subscribers, or if we didn’t get the thousands of annual submissions we do, our magazine would suck. It would be awful. It’s not that hard or overwhelming with our tiny volunteer staff. VQR can have (and, apparently, afford to pay) as many readers as it needs.
B) Receiving a submission is a massive compliment. Every time. When you forget that, you need to take a break. Remember that the people sending you work are mostly doing their best. They are trying to entrust you with something vitally important on that. Spitting on them, especially from VQR’s lofty perch, makes you look like a real asshole.
C) Seriously, just be an editor.
I also find the carping about the inability to make a living on writing rather pathetic, personally, but that’s a subject for another time. The short version: If you’ve got the time to write, that’s wonderful. If you make some sandwich money on the side, that’s a small miracle. If you make a living on your work, that’s strange and absurd and beautiful. The rest of us will be fine.
Why do lit mags have to be a “launching pad” at all. Why they gotta be a means to anything? Why can’t they be the end?
Why do lit mags have to be a “launching pad” at all. Why they gotta be a means to anything? Why can’t they be the end?
“Receiving a submission is a massive compliment. Every time.” — Absolutely, Mike. I couldn’t agree more. It’s something that’s always worth reminding ourselves of.
“Receiving a submission is a massive compliment. Every time.” — Absolutely, Mike. I couldn’t agree more. It’s something that’s always worth reminding ourselves of.
if dogzplot died, what would happen? if VQR died, what would happen? If this blog died, what would happen?
nothing, nothing, nothing.
writing happens because writers are readers. readers will continue to seek.
if dogzplot died, what would happen? if VQR died, what would happen? If this blog died, what would happen?
nothing, nothing, nothing.
writing happens because writers are readers. readers will continue to seek.
Wow, yes. This is how we produce and reproduce innovative, powerful work. Not, I think, by being co-opted, swallowed, by those who produce and reproduce–for whose benefit?–the standards of “culture.”
Wow, yes. This is how we produce and reproduce innovative, powerful work. Not, I think, by being co-opted, swallowed, by those who produce and reproduce–for whose benefit?–the standards of “culture.”
Genoways, who cares? Justin, you spelled “paid” as “payed.” That destroys your whole argument.
Genoways, who cares? Justin, you spelled “paid” as “payed.” That destroys your whole argument.
Amber, you wrote, “I lived George Saunders.” That is profound.
Amber, you wrote, “I lived George Saunders.” That is profound.
“… at a time like this, when I am painfully aware of the world’s tragedies, it has been reading books like … which is a grand grand book about small issues and in its own way also about big issues, that have helped me keep my shit together. Sometimes people don’t look outward because things suck out there.”
This is so true. What writers choose to write and what readers choose to read, the choices themselves, are statements about “the big issues”.
Fantastic post, Roxane, and comments, people.
“… at a time like this, when I am painfully aware of the world’s tragedies, it has been reading books like … which is a grand grand book about small issues and in its own way also about big issues, that have helped me keep my shit together. Sometimes people don’t look outward because things suck out there.”
This is so true. What writers choose to write and what readers choose to read, the choices themselves, are statements about “the big issues”.
Fantastic post, Roxane, and comments, people.
All editors need to do is CHARGE people for submissions, say $20 a story. That would get rid of the chaff. Problem solved. (This worked for Brandon Scott Gorrell.)
All editors need to do is CHARGE people for submissions, say $20 a story. That would get rid of the chaff. Problem solved. (This worked for Brandon Scott Gorrell.)
I don’t think it makes sense to set up a dichotomy between innovative fiction and what places like the New Yorker and VQR publish. Each magazine has its own aesthetic, and it shifts over time, and in the case of the New Yorker, can shift from week to week–i.e. is not homogeneous. The New Yorker was the venue that published most of the Barthelme stories that many of us (myself included) laud, and while they are not known for their experimental stuff nowadays, their stories are not assembly-line realism. I liked, for instance, the recent story by Jennifer Egan that was one of the savviest instances of omniscient pov I can recall in a short story. They publish writers like Delillo, Boyle, and good old George Saunders who get my admiration. VQR, in my experience,is one of the few venues that does publish stories by American writers that take place in places like Afghanistan, although Tom Bissell, who wrote “Death Defier” that was published there, to take one example, went there to cover a story for Men’s Journal originally. As Justin points out above, researching and planning such a trip takes time, resources, funding, and most writers are not going to be inclined or in a position to undertake such an endeavor. I think that what Genoways is referring to as “the big issues,” then, has more to do with political and international events rather than with “big” in the sense of existential, which he would consider navel-gazing. But as a result he draws a false–and damaging–distinction between postmodernism and engaged writing, which you, Alec, start to chisel into above. A work like Justin Sirois’s Mlking Sckls gives the lie to the notion that work can’t be both politically engaged and influenced by postmodernism or experimentalism (I’m thinking of the “uncooking” section in particular, the deployment of language throughout, and the dying battery conceit that puts an ever-diminishing frame around it). The counterargument to Genoway would be that in engaging with a subject like the Iraq War (for which read “contemporary reality”) adequately, not only might one benefit from postmodern technique and concepts, but such subject matter demands that the stylistic and philosophical innovations of the past fifty to one hundred years be brought to bear on the task. If The Things We Carried demonstrates that telling a “true” war story can only be done by calling into question the very nature of truth and storytelling (not to mention freaking Mrs. Dalloway), how much more so a war that is not only televised but perpetually cycled by a 24 hour media news machine fraught with ideological and commercial interests, not to mention Youtubed, blogged about, orange alerted about, and so forth. So, anyway, I like some of the stuff I’ve seen in the VQR as fulfilling a particular underrepresented aesthetic, an invitation into certain realms of otherness to my own experience that I don’t see enough of in fiction. At the same time, I’d hardly wish to see all literature become this. And finally, this whole “Postmodernists go in one bathroom, Realists use the other one, please” business has got to go.
I don’t think it makes sense to set up a dichotomy between innovative fiction and what places like the New Yorker and VQR publish. Each magazine has its own aesthetic, and it shifts over time, and in the case of the New Yorker, can shift from week to week–i.e. is not homogeneous. The New Yorker was the venue that published most of the Barthelme stories that many of us (myself included) laud, and while they are not known for their experimental stuff nowadays, their stories are not assembly-line realism. I liked, for instance, the recent story by Jennifer Egan that was one of the savviest instances of omniscient pov I can recall in a short story. They publish writers like Delillo, Boyle, and good old George Saunders who get my admiration. VQR, in my experience,is one of the few venues that does publish stories by American writers that take place in places like Afghanistan, although Tom Bissell, who wrote “Death Defier” that was published there, to take one example, went there to cover a story for Men’s Journal originally. As Justin points out above, researching and planning such a trip takes time, resources, funding, and most writers are not going to be inclined or in a position to undertake such an endeavor. I think that what Genoways is referring to as “the big issues,” then, has more to do with political and international events rather than with “big” in the sense of existential, which he would consider navel-gazing. But as a result he draws a false–and damaging–distinction between postmodernism and engaged writing, which you, Alec, start to chisel into above. A work like Justin Sirois’s Mlking Sckls gives the lie to the notion that work can’t be both politically engaged and influenced by postmodernism or experimentalism (I’m thinking of the “uncooking” section in particular, the deployment of language throughout, and the dying battery conceit that puts an ever-diminishing frame around it). The counterargument to Genoway would be that in engaging with a subject like the Iraq War (for which read “contemporary reality”) adequately, not only might one benefit from postmodern technique and concepts, but such subject matter demands that the stylistic and philosophical innovations of the past fifty to one hundred years be brought to bear on the task. If The Things We Carried demonstrates that telling a “true” war story can only be done by calling into question the very nature of truth and storytelling (not to mention freaking Mrs. Dalloway), how much more so a war that is not only televised but perpetually cycled by a 24 hour media news machine fraught with ideological and commercial interests, not to mention Youtubed, blogged about, orange alerted about, and so forth. So, anyway, I like some of the stuff I’ve seen in the VQR as fulfilling a particular underrepresented aesthetic, an invitation into certain realms of otherness to my own experience that I don’t see enough of in fiction. At the same time, I’d hardly wish to see all literature become this. And finally, this whole “Postmodernists go in one bathroom, Realists use the other one, please” business has got to go.
Receiving a submission is a massive invitation to sexual harassment, bribery or both.
Receiving a submission is a massive invitation to sexual harassment, bribery or both.
Can Roxane get a witness? A bunch of ’em?
Sometimes I think these editors and writers who constantly propagate this idea of “literary death”, are secretly wanting it to die, so it can be more precious and more protected, then resulting in less outlets of control and less outlets of controlling power. It will then be in the hands of very few, like in times before, instead of the growth it is experiencing now.
While I disagree with the idea that “not everyone can be writers” is a dreamkiller, and while I agree that maybe he meant “not everyone can be a published writer” — I think, to get a little spiritual here, we are all born with specific genetic gifts. Whether it being the ability to heal, to care for others, to working on engines, to figuring out social issues like hunger, to writing in a way that touches people. And that’s the key — writing in a way that communicates big or little ideas. Communicate in a way that subtely or massively changes something. Because even if it is subtle, a 100,000 subtle changes equals to a pretty big change overall. And yes, it should be changed to “not everyone *should* be a writer”, because that is not where their natural talent may lie.
And in regards to the idea of writers having forgotten about big issues… Ms. Gay hit that one out of the park. If editors want those ideas but pass over on them when they arrive, and then complain about not getting those ideas (this is not to say every “big idea” is the specific formation of that big idea they want), perhaps their reading/publishing/submission model needs to be tweaked, and their submissions should receive a closer eye.
Great post. Not mine, yours.
Can Roxane get a witness? A bunch of ’em?
Sometimes I think these editors and writers who constantly propagate this idea of “literary death”, are secretly wanting it to die, so it can be more precious and more protected, then resulting in less outlets of control and less outlets of controlling power. It will then be in the hands of very few, like in times before, instead of the growth it is experiencing now.
While I disagree with the idea that “not everyone can be writers” is a dreamkiller, and while I agree that maybe he meant “not everyone can be a published writer” — I think, to get a little spiritual here, we are all born with specific genetic gifts. Whether it being the ability to heal, to care for others, to working on engines, to figuring out social issues like hunger, to writing in a way that touches people. And that’s the key — writing in a way that communicates big or little ideas. Communicate in a way that subtely or massively changes something. Because even if it is subtle, a 100,000 subtle changes equals to a pretty big change overall. And yes, it should be changed to “not everyone *should* be a writer”, because that is not where their natural talent may lie.
And in regards to the idea of writers having forgotten about big issues… Ms. Gay hit that one out of the park. If editors want those ideas but pass over on them when they arrive, and then complain about not getting those ideas (this is not to say every “big idea” is the specific formation of that big idea they want), perhaps their reading/publishing/submission model needs to be tweaked, and their submissions should receive a closer eye.
Great post. Not mine, yours.
Genoways wrote:
“Consider this: When Wilbur Cross was elected governor of Connecticut in 1930, an unlikely Democratic victor in an overwhelmingly Republican state, his principal qualification was his nearly 20 years as editor of Yale Review.”
You can prove that literature is not dead and that things are just as good as during the First Great Depression! If you would like to see another literary magazine editor get elected governor of Connecticut this year, stop sending out your crappy stories and donate to the campaign of NED LAMONT!
https://services.myngp.com/NGPOnlineServices/contribution.aspx?X=RzRcCCRcj1Wt2UsGTLcIsyEY%2BWnx6dLKkpqFOjxaeDk%3D
Oh, I wasn’t (perhaps unintentionally I was) making that broad distinction between realism and postmodernism. I was saying that Genoway distinguishes between the two–that the project of postmodernism and the project of fiction as a medium, realism included, are not dissimilar.
I agree that artful writing with an eye to contemporary events should, and could really profit, from postmodern technique and anti-ideology ideology. That said, I’m not sure the invitation into otherness places like VQR offers is necessarily one I want to accept.
And I’m not trying to draw borders between TNY/VQR and innovative fiction. I’m sure both of them publish new writing, and reams of it. But I would argue that they are not appropriate spaces for writing that is authentically new. For a lot of reasons that don’t have much to do with contemporary writing, I guess.
Genoways wrote:
“Consider this: When Wilbur Cross was elected governor of Connecticut in 1930, an unlikely Democratic victor in an overwhelmingly Republican state, his principal qualification was his nearly 20 years as editor of Yale Review.”
You can prove that literature is not dead and that things are just as good as during the First Great Depression! If you would like to see another literary magazine editor get elected governor of Connecticut this year, stop sending out your crappy stories and donate to the campaign of NED LAMONT!
https://services.myngp.com/NGPOnlineServices/contribution.aspx?X=RzRcCCRcj1Wt2UsGTLcIsyEY%2BWnx6dLKkpqFOjxaeDk%3D
Oh, I wasn’t (perhaps unintentionally I was) making that broad distinction between realism and postmodernism. I was saying that Genoway distinguishes between the two–that the project of postmodernism and the project of fiction as a medium, realism included, are not dissimilar.
I agree that artful writing with an eye to contemporary events should, and could really profit, from postmodern technique and anti-ideology ideology. That said, I’m not sure the invitation into otherness places like VQR offers is necessarily one I want to accept.
And I’m not trying to draw borders between TNY/VQR and innovative fiction. I’m sure both of them publish new writing, and reams of it. But I would argue that they are not appropriate spaces for writing that is authentically new. For a lot of reasons that don’t have much to do with contemporary writing, I guess.
Genoways writes:
“In the midst of a war on two fronts, there has been hardly a ripple in American fiction. With the exception of a few execrable screeds—like Nicholson Baker’s Checkpoint (which revealed just how completely postmodernism has painted itself into a corner)—novelists and story writers alike have largely ignored the wars.”
The solution: BRING BACK THE DRAFT!
I’d love to see Zachary German sent to Afghanistan ASAP.
Genoways writes:
“In the midst of a war on two fronts, there has been hardly a ripple in American fiction. With the exception of a few execrable screeds—like Nicholson Baker’s Checkpoint (which revealed just how completely postmodernism has painted itself into a corner)—novelists and story writers alike have largely ignored the wars.”
The solution: BRING BACK THE DRAFT!
I’d love to see Zachary German sent to Afghanistan ASAP.
Damn iPhone automatic spellcheck!
Damn iPhone automatic spellcheck!
Alec, I disagree with you on this. I don’t see a manifest destiny of publishing unfolding, where we press boldly into the Wild West of being marginalized and poor, and stuck working Other Jobs to subsidize our art, which in turn means anyone poorer than Frederick Seidel becomes necessrily a hobbyist writer because they do Something Else for 60 hours a week to keep the lights on and the fridge full–still no insurance, but what the fuck. Look out for open manholes, and steaming piles of swine flu.
I want to be really clear– I am not arguing against this emergent lit-mag culture. I’m not on the Genoways “side,” assuming he even has one (as I said above, I thought that at least one major strain of his argument didn’t belong there, and this shoe-horn comes at the expense of the whole). I am 100% with Gian’s comment (see below) that a literary magazine ought–or anyway is allowed–to be an end in itself, rather than a launching pad for other things. Would that more people felt as he did–though, it IS worth pointing out that my relationship with Gian and his fine magazine, The New York Tyrant, has been incredibly rewarding to me personally and professionally. He didn’t put out a magazine to help my career, and I didn’t send him my work because I had a transactional sense of what was to be gained. He liked me; I liked him–a love story. But the other stuff is nice, too.
Ultimately, the specter haunting this conversation is this notion of “the professional” or “full-time” writer. Community is realized in instances–this blog-thread, or more generally speaking, the whole host of sites and magazines we’re talking about–and I am all for that, perpetually honored and thrilled to be part of it, but the Writing Community has not yet come around to any notion of Economic Collectivity, and though that’s a nice thought, I’m not holding my breath. “We” are a community of enthusiasts and practitioners, but “I” still have to pay “my” student loans back. If the “community” truly wants to facilitate revolutionary change–economic, I mean–it should develop a model whereby writers can be paid sufficiently–not to say handsomely–to practice their craft. Right now our community functions on a model of width over depth. We have a lot of very small things, and few very large things. If we chose, we could shutter up a lot of the smaller operations and concentrate that power into a few operations, which would then grow larger and more powerful. Then we would face the obvious risks attendant with concentrated power, but assuming we were able to mitigate those, we would have actual power to wield–to promote the literature that interests us, to facilitate discourse around it and about it, to sustain the lives of the people who produce it, etc. If the last 150 zines that you read but didn’t care about (and shat on in private conversation; “I can’t believe anyone buys this!”) all ceased operations and each cut you a check for a measly hundred bucks, you’d be at the helm of an operating budget to rival Narrative magazine’s. You could be them, only better, and Adam Robinson could have a thousand bucks instead of Richard Bausch. But that’s not going to happen, because apparently it’s not what “we” as a community, want to happen– with each day we choose to produce a plethora of small, highly specified operations with narrow readerships rather than attempt to organize something with mass force/appeal/whatever–something that could bend the culture-at-large back our way rather than the other way around. (Though, problematically, this blog sort of does the very thing I’m claiming never happens, so I, like old Ted Genoways, am essentially advertising for myself–or at least for Gene Morgan. So be it. Go team!) Anyway, it’s our right to do that and that’s what we do, so okay. But a person can’t eat a community, in the same way they can’t stand on a cloud, and so we find the limits of the notion of community at the frontier-land of the self. Turns out “we” have the same set of problems as every other culture or community ever in history–surprise!
Last thought- I am unwilling to apologize for the way I framed the idea of culture. Obviously the NY’ker is not the be-all end-all of what culture means. Neither the Times, nor the New Republic, nor the Nation, nor the NYRB, etc etc. But together these venues–and a host of others, no need nor space to name them all–form one particular strata of our intellectual and public culture. That much is inarguable. If you’re not interested in them and what they’re peddling, so much the better for you, I suppose. But for me, as real as the world of indie-publishing is, and as good as it’s been to me (as well, it must be said, as I’ve been to it–another love story!) I am neither obliged nor inclined to take its horizon as my own.
Alec, I disagree with you on this. I don’t see a manifest destiny of publishing unfolding, where we press boldly into the Wild West of being marginalized and poor, and stuck working Other Jobs to subsidize our art, which in turn means anyone poorer than Frederick Seidel becomes necessrily a hobbyist writer because they do Something Else for 60 hours a week to keep the lights on and the fridge full–still no insurance, but what the fuck. Look out for open manholes, and steaming piles of swine flu.
I want to be really clear– I am not arguing against this emergent lit-mag culture. I’m not on the Genoways “side,” assuming he even has one (as I said above, I thought that at least one major strain of his argument didn’t belong there, and this shoe-horn comes at the expense of the whole). I am 100% with Gian’s comment (see below) that a literary magazine ought–or anyway is allowed–to be an end in itself, rather than a launching pad for other things. Would that more people felt as he did–though, it IS worth pointing out that my relationship with Gian and his fine magazine, The New York Tyrant, has been incredibly rewarding to me personally and professionally. He didn’t put out a magazine to help my career, and I didn’t send him my work because I had a transactional sense of what was to be gained. He liked me; I liked him–a love story. But the other stuff is nice, too.
Ultimately, the specter haunting this conversation is this notion of “the professional” or “full-time” writer. Community is realized in instances–this blog-thread, or more generally speaking, the whole host of sites and magazines we’re talking about–and I am all for that, perpetually honored and thrilled to be part of it, but the Writing Community has not yet come around to any notion of Economic Collectivity, and though that’s a nice thought, I’m not holding my breath. “We” are a community of enthusiasts and practitioners, but “I” still have to pay “my” student loans back. If the “community” truly wants to facilitate revolutionary change–economic, I mean–it should develop a model whereby writers can be paid sufficiently–not to say handsomely–to practice their craft. Right now our community functions on a model of width over depth. We have a lot of very small things, and few very large things. If we chose, we could shutter up a lot of the smaller operations and concentrate that power into a few operations, which would then grow larger and more powerful. Then we would face the obvious risks attendant with concentrated power, but assuming we were able to mitigate those, we would have actual power to wield–to promote the literature that interests us, to facilitate discourse around it and about it, to sustain the lives of the people who produce it, etc. If the last 150 zines that you read but didn’t care about (and shat on in private conversation; “I can’t believe anyone buys this!”) all ceased operations and each cut you a check for a measly hundred bucks, you’d be at the helm of an operating budget to rival Narrative magazine’s. You could be them, only better, and Adam Robinson could have a thousand bucks instead of Richard Bausch. But that’s not going to happen, because apparently it’s not what “we” as a community, want to happen– with each day we choose to produce a plethora of small, highly specified operations with narrow readerships rather than attempt to organize something with mass force/appeal/whatever–something that could bend the culture-at-large back our way rather than the other way around. (Though, problematically, this blog sort of does the very thing I’m claiming never happens, so I, like old Ted Genoways, am essentially advertising for myself–or at least for Gene Morgan. So be it. Go team!) Anyway, it’s our right to do that and that’s what we do, so okay. But a person can’t eat a community, in the same way they can’t stand on a cloud, and so we find the limits of the notion of community at the frontier-land of the self. Turns out “we” have the same set of problems as every other culture or community ever in history–surprise!
Last thought- I am unwilling to apologize for the way I framed the idea of culture. Obviously the NY’ker is not the be-all end-all of what culture means. Neither the Times, nor the New Republic, nor the Nation, nor the NYRB, etc etc. But together these venues–and a host of others, no need nor space to name them all–form one particular strata of our intellectual and public culture. That much is inarguable. If you’re not interested in them and what they’re peddling, so much the better for you, I suppose. But for me, as real as the world of indie-publishing is, and as good as it’s been to me (as well, it must be said, as I’ve been to it–another love story!) I am neither obliged nor inclined to take its horizon as my own.
is it possible to sound truly genuine or correct when discussing this topic?
i don’t think it is.
is it possible to sound truly genuine or correct when discussing this topic?
i don’t think it is.
Yeah, remember that day in 1965 when the Vietnam war was finally brought to an end by a short story in an American literary journal? Literature is soooooooo effective that way. People in government really do read contemporary fiction in order to find out what decisions to make regarding foreign policy! They really truly do! Remember when the Iraq war ended just three days after it began in 2003, all thanks to a 450-word flash fiction piece in Something Something Online Quarterly? Thank God for literature!
Yeah, remember that day in 1965 when the Vietnam war was finally brought to an end by a short story in an American literary journal? Literature is soooooooo effective that way. People in government really do read contemporary fiction in order to find out what decisions to make regarding foreign policy! They really truly do! Remember when the Iraq war ended just three days after it began in 2003, all thanks to a 450-word flash fiction piece in Something Something Online Quarterly? Thank God for literature!
This is gonna be all over the place, but whatever:
I’m in the camp that argues academic lit has been outsted from its throne for a looooooong time, but it’s given way to something much more democratic and communal.
Funny thing about TG’s article is that he can bellyache all he wants, not a damn word of what he writes is going to turn the steering wheel of literary fiction. While these are interesting and important discussions to have, literary fiction is an amorphous organism, the only thing that changes it is the work, those writers breaking new ground and inspiring others to do the same. The writers force it to evolve, they don’t ask it to.
I agree that it’s unfair to force fiction to deal with either “small” or “big” issues. It does both.
Watch this Charlie Rose interview with Harold Bloom:
http://vol1brooklyn.com/2010/01/16/dusting-off-harold-bloom-talking-to-charlie-rose/
Bloom argues that politically charged fiction (or maybe, more specifically, PCness) killed aesthetically charged fiction.
TG argues that navel-gazing killed it. Jesus christ, why does everything have to be dying or dead? Hyperbole isn’t forecasting, it’s for scoring unique hits.
Things evolve, they change. The older people get the harder time they have dealing with this concept. Maybe that’s why TG’s whining.
This is gonna be all over the place, but whatever:
I’m in the camp that argues academic lit has been outsted from its throne for a looooooong time, but it’s given way to something much more democratic and communal.
Funny thing about TG’s article is that he can bellyache all he wants, not a damn word of what he writes is going to turn the steering wheel of literary fiction. While these are interesting and important discussions to have, literary fiction is an amorphous organism, the only thing that changes it is the work, those writers breaking new ground and inspiring others to do the same. The writers force it to evolve, they don’t ask it to.
I agree that it’s unfair to force fiction to deal with either “small” or “big” issues. It does both.
Watch this Charlie Rose interview with Harold Bloom:
http://vol1brooklyn.com/2010/01/16/dusting-off-harold-bloom-talking-to-charlie-rose/
Bloom argues that politically charged fiction (or maybe, more specifically, PCness) killed aesthetically charged fiction.
TG argues that navel-gazing killed it. Jesus christ, why does everything have to be dying or dead? Hyperbole isn’t forecasting, it’s for scoring unique hits.
Things evolve, they change. The older people get the harder time they have dealing with this concept. Maybe that’s why TG’s whining.
I second this
I second this
I’ve never understood what is wrong with “elitism.”
In its original definition, the idea that society should be run by a group of elites, was obviously fucked… but mostly because the “elites” weren’t actually elite at anything except having upper class last names and inherited wealth.
But when it comes to disciplines, I want the better people to do better.
I’ve never understood what is wrong with “elitism.”
In its original definition, the idea that society should be run by a group of elites, was obviously fucked… but mostly because the “elites” weren’t actually elite at anything except having upper class last names and inherited wealth.
But when it comes to disciplines, I want the better people to do better.
thirded
thirded
Wasn’t George Saunders found and published and brought into the cultural consciousness by the same stuffy literary magazines you are attacking?
Seems like an odd example…
Wasn’t George Saunders found and published and brought into the cultural consciousness by the same stuffy literary magazines you are attacking?
Seems like an odd example…
While I believe we’ve had our share of righteously indignant war fiction, I would support sending Zachary German to Afghanistan. In fact, send Tao Lin and all his other flunkies as well. Maybe they won’t be so ‘bored’ all the time.
While I believe we’ve had our share of righteously indignant war fiction, I would support sending Zachary German to Afghanistan. In fact, send Tao Lin and all his other flunkies as well. Maybe they won’t be so ‘bored’ all the time.
For me the weird part of his critique is in claiming writers need to talk about big political issues to be relevant after moaning about how few readers there are. I’m not sure what culture this guy lives in, but most people are not dying for more political analysis in their art and entertainment. This is not to say that such stuff does not have merit, but if the goal is to find more readers for literature the answer is not more politics.
I agree that there is too much navel-gazing nonsense in “literary” fiction, but i think the answer is in making literature more exciting….more humor, more surprise, more action. Basically, how about some stories that are actually interesting?
For me the weird part of his critique is in claiming writers need to talk about big political issues to be relevant after moaning about how few readers there are. I’m not sure what culture this guy lives in, but most people are not dying for more political analysis in their art and entertainment. This is not to say that such stuff does not have merit, but if the goal is to find more readers for literature the answer is not more politics.
I agree that there is too much navel-gazing nonsense in “literary” fiction, but i think the answer is in making literature more exciting….more humor, more surprise, more action. Basically, how about some stories that are actually interesting?
This is the most disgusting comment I’ve read on HTMLGiant.
IP ban?
This is the most disgusting comment I’ve read on HTMLGiant.
IP ban?
This is hard for me to navigate, specifically because I agree with you re: depth over width. But the risks of a power bloc make me wary, y’know? I feel like we’re at one of those weird points in an art form where the form itself is laid bare, split open by some new compossibility. And there are several ways to proceed: procession itself is a risk. The compression of materials you advocate here I agree with for the most part. I think indie-publishing will naturally converge somewhere near that point, eventually, but how it is handled, or how to handle it, is something we cannot predict. And I agree that, yes, how the whole situation of indie-lit comports itself anew is dependent on how each individual responds to new conditions.
Like I’ve said, I think this site in particular is something close to unique as an democratic intellectual space. I believe, also, that there is something in-between the broad dispersal of indie-publishing and the fogeydom of the public intellectual sphere.
Oh wait… now you don’t know what humor is?
This is hard for me to navigate, specifically because I agree with you re: depth over width. But the risks of a power bloc make me wary, y’know? I feel like we’re at one of those weird points in an art form where the form itself is laid bare, split open by some new compossibility. And there are several ways to proceed: procession itself is a risk. The compression of materials you advocate here I agree with for the most part. I think indie-publishing will naturally converge somewhere near that point, eventually, but how it is handled, or how to handle it, is something we cannot predict. And I agree that, yes, how the whole situation of indie-lit comports itself anew is dependent on how each individual responds to new conditions.
Like I’ve said, I think this site in particular is something close to unique as an democratic intellectual space. I believe, also, that there is something in-between the broad dispersal of indie-publishing and the fogeydom of the public intellectual sphere.
Oh wait… now you don’t know what humor is?
That’s not funny, though. Like, even as an “edgy” thing to say. Unfunny.
That’s not funny, though. Like, even as an “edgy” thing to say. Unfunny.
i think they can take it
i think they can take it
Of course. You’d would never claim that the world of medicine are a bunch of snobby elites cause they won’t let your next door neighbor with a band saw practice brain surgery. But I think the problem with elitism in the sense that you’re talking about is that the elite tend to corrupt absolutely by shutting the doors on serious and comitted writers cause they don’t quite fit the elite’s style.
Of course. You’d would never claim that the world of medicine are a bunch of snobby elites cause they won’t let your next door neighbor with a band saw practice brain surgery. But I think the problem with elitism in the sense that you’re talking about is that the elite tend to corrupt absolutely by shutting the doors on serious and comitted writers cause they don’t quite fit the elite’s style.
I’m a hundred percent with Justin here. I think there is a tendency when marginalized to rationalize your situation. There is a lot of great stuff that goes on in the indie lit world and lit mag world, but clearly the ideal situation is not to have literature confined to a bunch of magazines few if any people read and one or two breakout stars who can parlay their novel success into magazine articles that actually pay money. I don’t think we need to pretend it is.
I also think a lot of big magazine bashing that has gone on here (and tends to go on here regularly) is full of a lot of wishful thinking.
Do I think the glossies that still print fiction and big lit mags all publish the best work? No. But they don’t exclusively publish stale horrible fiction. Many of the most beloved authors on this site (David Foster Wallace, Lydia Davis, Diane Williams, George Saunders, Sam Lipsyte, etc.) are published in the New Yorker, Harper’s and so on. The glossies are not a wasteland.
I don’t think I need to go into some of the hateful stuff said or even, for some sensitive folk, promoted on this website to highlight how ridiculous it is to suggest banning my IP because I made a joke (bad taste or not). If the powers that be wish to do so, I accept that. But please don’t act like you wouldn’t laugh if someone on the “inside” suggested it.
I’m a hundred percent with Justin here. I think there is a tendency when marginalized to rationalize your situation. There is a lot of great stuff that goes on in the indie lit world and lit mag world, but clearly the ideal situation is not to have literature confined to a bunch of magazines few if any people read and one or two breakout stars who can parlay their novel success into magazine articles that actually pay money. I don’t think we need to pretend it is.
I also think a lot of big magazine bashing that has gone on here (and tends to go on here regularly) is full of a lot of wishful thinking.
Do I think the glossies that still print fiction and big lit mags all publish the best work? No. But they don’t exclusively publish stale horrible fiction. Many of the most beloved authors on this site (David Foster Wallace, Lydia Davis, Diane Williams, George Saunders, Sam Lipsyte, etc.) are published in the New Yorker, Harper’s and so on. The glossies are not a wasteland.
I don’t think I need to go into some of the hateful stuff said or even, for some sensitive folk, promoted on this website to highlight how ridiculous it is to suggest banning my IP because I made a joke (bad taste or not). If the powers that be wish to do so, I accept that. But please don’t act like you wouldn’t laugh if someone on the “inside” suggested it.
My big gripe with eds who complain about the volume of submissions is this: why do they continue to accept unsolicited submissions if they’re so overwhelmed? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that most of the stories/poems in VQR are solicited from big name writers, as with the New Yorker and other big paying markets. Same thing with Narrative magazine. TC Boyle isn’t submitting to the slush pile. Lincoln mentioned Saunders as being plucked from obscurity by the New Yorker. Honestly, I don’t see that happening today. Treisman herself has said that you’re not very “savvy” if you’re sending an unsolicited story to the New Yorker. Hey, at least, she’s being honest and not giving out false hope to someone with unreal literary expectations.
As for Genoways’ salary, how much longer will UVA pay him that much to run a lit mag, given the economic times? Look what happened to TriQuarterly. They basically fired the entire staff and now grad students (presumably unpaid) will run the journal.
One final gripe: VQR has always been snarky about submissions, see rude. A while back on their blog they posted the most common submission titles they received. Were some of the titles bad and cliches? Sure, but do you have to publicly make fun of them?
you shan’t be banned, stu. head on.
My big gripe with eds who complain about the volume of submissions is this: why do they continue to accept unsolicited submissions if they’re so overwhelmed? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that most of the stories/poems in VQR are solicited from big name writers, as with the New Yorker and other big paying markets. Same thing with Narrative magazine. TC Boyle isn’t submitting to the slush pile. Lincoln mentioned Saunders as being plucked from obscurity by the New Yorker. Honestly, I don’t see that happening today. Treisman herself has said that you’re not very “savvy” if you’re sending an unsolicited story to the New Yorker. Hey, at least, she’s being honest and not giving out false hope to someone with unreal literary expectations.
As for Genoways’ salary, how much longer will UVA pay him that much to run a lit mag, given the economic times? Look what happened to TriQuarterly. They basically fired the entire staff and now grad students (presumably unpaid) will run the journal.
One final gripe: VQR has always been snarky about submissions, see rude. A while back on their blog they posted the most common submission titles they received. Were some of the titles bad and cliches? Sure, but do you have to publicly make fun of them?
you shan’t be banned, stu. head on.
The rise in popularity of short fiction in the 20th c. had a lot to do with the birth and expansion of the suburb and the morning commute. The lit journal short story is not a monolithic and always-extent thing. It, like everything else, is a publishing trend that should be historically situated. Maybe lit journals have been dying since cars have been replacing public transit. Who knows. But it seems extremely short-sighted to say that because a publishing trend may be waning in one medium that all literature (at least in this country) is doomed and sucky. Just look at novels–they’ve apparently been dead since before I was born and yet I seem to recall reading and loving me some novels as recently as last week.
funny to suggest an IP ban, isn’t it?
The rise in popularity of short fiction in the 20th c. had a lot to do with the birth and expansion of the suburb and the morning commute. The lit journal short story is not a monolithic and always-extent thing. It, like everything else, is a publishing trend that should be historically situated. Maybe lit journals have been dying since cars have been replacing public transit. Who knows. But it seems extremely short-sighted to say that because a publishing trend may be waning in one medium that all literature (at least in this country) is doomed and sucky. Just look at novels–they’ve apparently been dead since before I was born and yet I seem to recall reading and loving me some novels as recently as last week.
funny to suggest an IP ban, isn’t it?
Just to clarify, Saunders first story was not the New Yorker but the Northwest Review. Although the New Yorker published him pretty early on in his career, I think. Still, it was one of your (supposedly) typical stale worth nothing university lit mags who found him, and it was other apparently worthless big lit mags and glossies who made him famous.
Just to clarify, Saunders first story was not the New Yorker but the Northwest Review. Although the New Yorker published him pretty early on in his career, I think. Still, it was one of your (supposedly) typical stale worth nothing university lit mags who found him, and it was other apparently worthless big lit mags and glossies who made him famous.
Just stu(pid). Either way, Genoways is right, write. At a certain time in life the constant public “inwardness” of writing displays itself for what it is exactly, the glacial trace of boredom. So? I like that. I like it when speed kills also, and saying something “outwardly” is fine. One is one kind of thing, not the Other, or they merge (if one is successful). It has very little to do with the author, who only communicates the language that a reader reads. All the agony about high and low, and sink or swim, I could do without. Disciplinary aesthetics suck eggs.
Just stu(pid). Either way, Genoways is right, write. At a certain time in life the constant public “inwardness” of writing displays itself for what it is exactly, the glacial trace of boredom. So? I like that. I like it when speed kills also, and saying something “outwardly” is fine. One is one kind of thing, not the Other, or they merge (if one is successful). It has very little to do with the author, who only communicates the language that a reader reads. All the agony about high and low, and sink or swim, I could do without. Disciplinary aesthetics suck eggs.
This is exactly my problem, too. All the people pointing out that the New Yorker prints some great fiction are right, of course. But those authors are only getting published in the New Yorker because they’re famous already. The New Yorker isn’t fostering new or great art. That’s what the indie world is doing.
This is exactly my problem, too. All the people pointing out that the New Yorker prints some great fiction are right, of course. But those authors are only getting published in the New Yorker because they’re famous already. The New Yorker isn’t fostering new or great art. That’s what the indie world is doing.
I will admit I’m not totally sure where we aer drawing lines here (we being everyone.) For example, what counts as indie literature? Everything that isn’t a major publishing house or a glossy magazine with a wide circulation? Are McSweeney’s and Tin House indie lit mags? Are VQR, Indiana Review and other university tied magazines indie lit?
I’m with you guys that the New Yorker is not fostering new writers in their infancy. As the top of the heap, I’m not totally sure that is their duty. But either way, I do think many of the bigger lit mags do indeed do this.
I will admit I’m not totally sure where we aer drawing lines here (we being everyone.) For example, what counts as indie literature? Everything that isn’t a major publishing house or a glossy magazine with a wide circulation? Are McSweeney’s and Tin House indie lit mags? Are VQR, Indiana Review and other university tied magazines indie lit?
I’m with you guys that the New Yorker is not fostering new writers in their infancy. As the top of the heap, I’m not totally sure that is their duty. But either way, I do think many of the bigger lit mags do indeed do this.
My point was that when I was reading all those magazines, I was wondering who HAD published Saunders first, because I didn’t see anything like what he was writing in those magazines. I guess that was the point I was trying to make.
My point was that when I was reading all those magazines, I was wondering who HAD published Saunders first, because I didn’t see anything like what he was writing in those magazines. I guess that was the point I was trying to make.
yeah, exactly
yeah, exactly
I have been thinking a lot lately about what poet Cesar Vallejo said concerning the avant-garde in the twenties, “The present generation of America is as rhetorical and lacking in spiritual honesty as the previous generation which it denies.” Does the shoe fit today (not excepting anyone, including myself)?
I have been thinking a lot lately about what poet Cesar Vallejo said concerning the avant-garde in the twenties, “The present generation of America is as rhetorical and lacking in spiritual honesty as the previous generation which it denies.” Does the shoe fit today (not excepting anyone, including myself)?
Ted Genoways?
Howard Junker put this guy to bed last year:
http://zyzzyvaspeaks.blogspot.com/2008/09/ted-genoways-inserts-himself.html
Just another rich, well-connected white dude trying to act concerned.
Ted Genoways?
Howard Junker put this guy to bed last year:
http://zyzzyvaspeaks.blogspot.com/2008/09/ted-genoways-inserts-himself.html
Just another rich, well-connected white dude trying to act concerned.
Didn’t Lynn freed try to pull this shit a while back. Why don’t both these people quit their jobs and go do what they love?
Didn’t Lynn freed try to pull this shit a while back. Why don’t both these people quit their jobs and go do what they love?
I think the only outcome of all this will be that VQR will get a landslide of really terrible “Big Issue” stories. Really, really, terrible. Ted Genoways will weep soundlessly in his giant bed stuffed with academic money, reading his fiftieth story about Racism or Poverty or The Economy, staring longingly at the latest issue of Sleepingfish or the NY Tyrant. Actually, I guess he won’t be doing that, since to his mind, those publications don’t exist.
I was happy to see that my Barrelhouse salary is more than he makes for VQR, though.
Just joking — I only make $132,000 for Barrelhouse.
I think the only outcome of all this will be that VQR will get a landslide of really terrible “Big Issue” stories. Really, really, terrible. Ted Genoways will weep soundlessly in his giant bed stuffed with academic money, reading his fiftieth story about Racism or Poverty or The Economy, staring longingly at the latest issue of Sleepingfish or the NY Tyrant. Actually, I guess he won’t be doing that, since to his mind, those publications don’t exist.
I was happy to see that my Barrelhouse salary is more than he makes for VQR, though.
Just joking — I only make $132,000 for Barrelhouse.
There’s a difference between elitism and excellence, to my mind.
There’s a difference between elitism and excellence, to my mind.
He’s right, as Veldhoen says, to say “write.” But not right to say WHAT to write as HE would like it to appear in THE VQR. “Write something we want to read”/write something HE wants to read. No thank you. If you want to write about war, write about war until your fucking ears bleed, but don’t write about war or whatever else because that’s what’s HOT…that’s what a certain person or certain magazine wants to see…and it IS what a lot of them want to see. If you could give two shits about war, don’t write about it, write about your toenails in the way you see fit and fucking proper. If you write about your toenails in a great way, that should be recognized to, and probably has been at some point. My guess is that Baker didn’t write Checkpoint to cash in on a built-in, anti-THEN current-administration audience which is/was certainly present, but because he had to write fucking Checkpoint.
He’s right, as Veldhoen says, to say “write.” But not right to say WHAT to write as HE would like it to appear in THE VQR. “Write something we want to read”/write something HE wants to read. No thank you. If you want to write about war, write about war until your fucking ears bleed, but don’t write about war or whatever else because that’s what’s HOT…that’s what a certain person or certain magazine wants to see…and it IS what a lot of them want to see. If you could give two shits about war, don’t write about it, write about your toenails in the way you see fit and fucking proper. If you write about your toenails in a great way, that should be recognized to, and probably has been at some point. My guess is that Baker didn’t write Checkpoint to cash in on a built-in, anti-THEN current-administration audience which is/was certainly present, but because he had to write fucking Checkpoint.
Amen. Roxane.
Amen. Roxane.
Well elitism, as people seem to use it today, seems to mean a belief that excellence exists or that excellence is more valuable than non-excellence.
What elitism used to mean (to paraphrase the dictionary) is the idea that people of certain classes or groups are superior and thus should “rule.” But I don’t think this VQR guy is saying anything like that.
Well elitism, as people seem to use it today, seems to mean a belief that excellence exists or that excellence is more valuable than non-excellence.
What elitism used to mean (to paraphrase the dictionary) is the idea that people of certain classes or groups are superior and thus should “rule.” But I don’t think this VQR guy is saying anything like that.
Nail on head: “Genoway is calling for a realism which has been out-of-date since its inception–a realism which is, in concept, political action rather than fiction.”
Back in the thirties, a bunch of writers got together and tried this, when proletarian fiction was born. It completely failed both as art and as political action. It was a monstrous hybrid of neither. And the more I think about this guy calling for that kind of art–the more I agree with Dave’s comment below: I hope he gets exactly what he’s asked for.
This isn’t to say that political writing can’t be great. It can. But fiction as broadside for political action–yuck.
Nail on head: “Genoway is calling for a realism which has been out-of-date since its inception–a realism which is, in concept, political action rather than fiction.”
Back in the thirties, a bunch of writers got together and tried this, when proletarian fiction was born. It completely failed both as art and as political action. It was a monstrous hybrid of neither. And the more I think about this guy calling for that kind of art–the more I agree with Dave’s comment below: I hope he gets exactly what he’s asked for.
This isn’t to say that political writing can’t be great. It can. But fiction as broadside for political action–yuck.
There are certainly plenty of problems with the way the publishing world works and with the way basically everything works. However, I don’t really see any problem in the specific statement by Mr. Genoways. Isn’t what he is saying manifestly true? Not everyone can be a good writer much less an professional writer. That is just reality. There are far more people attempting to be writers than society can accommodate to any real level. Is it crushing people’s dreams to say that? Perhaps, but won’t those people’s dreams be crushed by reality anyway? Tons of people pursue various things (sports, writing, music, whatever) only to hit the reality that for various reasons they will not succeed in. Do we even want to encourage people to pursue something they are not good at?
This is my problem with the MFA world. I went to an MFA and I thought it was a great experience and I think MFAs certainly have a place in contemporary fiction. I think a lot of Galloway’s criticisms of MFAs are short-sighted or wrong (navel-gazing fiction is as common from non-MFA students as MFA students, perhaps more so). However, I do find it hard to see how many MFA students are being produced and not see something dishonest in the process. We may say people go an an MFA knowing they might not get published, but I think the reality is if a university is saying you have met the bar to study writing at the graduate level then they are saying you have some real talent and should follow this dream accordingly. But clearly, as the numbers show, vastly more people are being accepted than can even have a story published in a third or fourth tier journal.
Obviously I am all for people doing whatever they want to do in life. You don’t have to be an olympic level sprinter to go running and you don’t have to be able to publish to write. But if your writing or running skills are not very good, I don’t think it is helpful for people to act like they are.
And certainly it is worth noting that I am not a successful writer and lord knows I may soon find I can’t hack it either, so this is not me snubbing my nose down at anyone. But I’m not sure our current MFA output is conducive to anything other than increasing the number of bitter ex-writers and English department faculty.
There are certainly plenty of problems with the way the publishing world works and with the way basically everything works. However, I don’t really see any problem in the specific statement by Mr. Genoways. Isn’t what he is saying manifestly true? Not everyone can be a good writer much less an professional writer. That is just reality. There are far more people attempting to be writers than society can accommodate to any real level. Is it crushing people’s dreams to say that? Perhaps, but won’t those people’s dreams be crushed by reality anyway? Tons of people pursue various things (sports, writing, music, whatever) only to hit the reality that for various reasons they will not succeed in. Do we even want to encourage people to pursue something they are not good at?
This is my problem with the MFA world. I went to an MFA and I thought it was a great experience and I think MFAs certainly have a place in contemporary fiction. I think a lot of Galloway’s criticisms of MFAs are short-sighted or wrong (navel-gazing fiction is as common from non-MFA students as MFA students, perhaps more so). However, I do find it hard to see how many MFA students are being produced and not see something dishonest in the process. We may say people go an an MFA knowing they might not get published, but I think the reality is if a university is saying you have met the bar to study writing at the graduate level then they are saying you have some real talent and should follow this dream accordingly. But clearly, as the numbers show, vastly more people are being accepted than can even have a story published in a third or fourth tier journal.
Obviously I am all for people doing whatever they want to do in life. You don’t have to be an olympic level sprinter to go running and you don’t have to be able to publish to write. But if your writing or running skills are not very good, I don’t think it is helpful for people to act like they are.
And certainly it is worth noting that I am not a successful writer and lord knows I may soon find I can’t hack it either, so this is not me snubbing my nose down at anyone. But I’m not sure our current MFA output is conducive to anything other than increasing the number of bitter ex-writers and English department faculty.
http://www.toobeautiful.org/dontevenask/blog.html
http://www.toobeautiful.org/dontevenask/blog.html
I am not so dense as to not know Genoways is referring to professional writers but I do think anyone can be a writer and there is ample evidence, however unfortunate that evidence may be, given the proliferation of publishing outlets. Nor am I so trite as to suggest that everyone has a story. Come on. You’re really simplifying my argument to the point of absurdity.
With regard to equating a magazine like DOGZPLOT with the Atlantic, I am not doing that either. I simply suggest that there’s a lot the academic literary magazine could learn from independent magazines. I think that’s a fair statement.
Finally, I’m not making light of the numbers Genoways puts forth. I know you know that Genoways does not read anywhere close to 15,000 submissions a year. I don’t know how VQR manages their queue but having done time dealing with the slush as an editorial assistant at a big magazine, I can say that the editor generally sees about 5% of submissions if that. I also think that if these magazines who will only publish 12 or so stories don’t want 15,000 submissions, they should only accept solicited work or move to a model like the Mississippi Review where different editors are responsible for different issues and no one person has to be overwhelmed by slush reading year round.
I am not so dense as to not know Genoways is referring to professional writers but I do think anyone can be a writer and there is ample evidence, however unfortunate that evidence may be, given the proliferation of publishing outlets. Nor am I so trite as to suggest that everyone has a story. Come on. You’re really simplifying my argument to the point of absurdity.
With regard to equating a magazine like DOGZPLOT with the Atlantic, I am not doing that either. I simply suggest that there’s a lot the academic literary magazine could learn from independent magazines. I think that’s a fair statement.
Finally, I’m not making light of the numbers Genoways puts forth. I know you know that Genoways does not read anywhere close to 15,000 submissions a year. I don’t know how VQR manages their queue but having done time dealing with the slush as an editorial assistant at a big magazine, I can say that the editor generally sees about 5% of submissions if that. I also think that if these magazines who will only publish 12 or so stories don’t want 15,000 submissions, they should only accept solicited work or move to a model like the Mississippi Review where different editors are responsible for different issues and no one person has to be overwhelmed by slush reading year round.
Sucks eggs. Distinction between one thing and the next makes for a poverty of meaning with everything becoming context. “Excellence” deserves a big fat reward every time, like forgiveness for sinning.
Who cares? One text will be preferred to another, by some reader. I would give Blake’s dictum, that writers are readers a mereological flip, although it is essentially correct, and say instead that readers are writers. To say that not everyone can be a writer mistakes the complicity required between author and reader to make a working text, and it is oblivious to the powers of representation that have always been used to make deep literary meaning happen. There is a subtlety and distance that writing about one’s toes can represent, as a political action, just as much as writing about something directly “political” represents action; juxtaposing the two makes it even better, as does ignoring action, or delaying it, or subverting it, etc. If “postmodernism” is painted into a corner, it will paint its way back out, or unpaint the corners, or dissolve into the corner itself, or it will show up at a rich editor’s house in the middle of the night, on drugs and without a shirt on. If one wanted realism one would “workshop” as Theodor Kasinsky, or otherwise occupy the place that a reactionary cultural arbiter deserves, which seems to mean living in a shed. With such a fat salary you’d think you’d get better digs. I’ve had my fill of what people tell me is “reality,” thanks a billion.
Sucks eggs. Distinction between one thing and the next makes for a poverty of meaning with everything becoming context. “Excellence” deserves a big fat reward every time, like forgiveness for sinning.
Who cares? One text will be preferred to another, by some reader. I would give Blake’s dictum, that writers are readers a mereological flip, although it is essentially correct, and say instead that readers are writers. To say that not everyone can be a writer mistakes the complicity required between author and reader to make a working text, and it is oblivious to the powers of representation that have always been used to make deep literary meaning happen. There is a subtlety and distance that writing about one’s toes can represent, as a political action, just as much as writing about something directly “political” represents action; juxtaposing the two makes it even better, as does ignoring action, or delaying it, or subverting it, etc. If “postmodernism” is painted into a corner, it will paint its way back out, or unpaint the corners, or dissolve into the corner itself, or it will show up at a rich editor’s house in the middle of the night, on drugs and without a shirt on. If one wanted realism one would “workshop” as Theodor Kasinsky, or otherwise occupy the place that a reactionary cultural arbiter deserves, which seems to mean living in a shed. With such a fat salary you’d think you’d get better digs. I’ve had my fill of what people tell me is “reality,” thanks a billion.
The Secret Diary is kind of cute in a snarky sort of way, but I’ve had plenty of experiences with teachers (both in person and through my children) that could allow me to write a similar diary from the student point of view. Last semester, my son, a freshman in college, had an English comp instructor–an MFA student–who showed up to class once a week on average, would complain to the class how hungover she was, brag that she was wanted for multiple DWIs in her home state, and possessed a third grade–no first grade–grasp of usage and grammer (her favorite word was “moreso”).
The Secret Diary is kind of cute in a snarky sort of way, but I’ve had plenty of experiences with teachers (both in person and through my children) that could allow me to write a similar diary from the student point of view. Last semester, my son, a freshman in college, had an English comp instructor–an MFA student–who showed up to class once a week on average, would complain to the class how hungover she was, brag that she was wanted for multiple DWIs in her home state, and possessed a third grade–no first grade–grasp of usage and grammer (her favorite word was “moreso”).
I don’t mind elitism of the former variety you mention. This is not about having a problem with excellence. I subscribe to several “elite” magazines. I send them my work. Once in a while, they reciprocate the love. I do not begrudge success.
But to suggest that the academy is the only salvation for literature is an elitism of the latter distinction and that, for me, is a real problem.
I don’t mind elitism of the former variety you mention. This is not about having a problem with excellence. I subscribe to several “elite” magazines. I send them my work. Once in a while, they reciprocate the love. I do not begrudge success.
But to suggest that the academy is the only salvation for literature is an elitism of the latter distinction and that, for me, is a real problem.
Sounds like a great class!
Sounds like a great class!
Even if there were five lit mags left, those five would be preserved like endangered lions, and made to procreate, by those who find them precious.
Even if there were five lit mags left, those five would be preserved like endangered lions, and made to procreate, by those who find them precious.
*grammar
(Sorry, but someone had to do it).
*grammar
(Sorry, but someone had to do it).
I love this. From this day forward I will no longer wear coats made from the covers of literary magazines.
But I do love this.
I love this. From this day forward I will no longer wear coats made from the covers of literary magazines.
But I do love this.
Wow, a thoughtful thread of comments. For me, the most important point raised is that the elite, well-funded mags are not publishing new voices, emerging art, work otherwise unread. I am absolutely with Alec when he says, “the event-site of fiction is shifting ground.” I’m not sure how true this is in the US, but there is a fundamental problem here in Australia with the funding of literary magazines. Some of you might know the The Lifted Brow. I hear that even they, possibly the most successful unfunded literary magazine in Australia (since it has an audience in the US) are having difficulties. The government-supported magazines work under a stipulation that 95% of work that occurs in these journals must be by Australian writers. Otherwise their funding will be cut. As much as this protectionism might benefit the preservation of otherwise ignored local fictions, it is ignorant to the possibilities of some extremely productive literary experiments like Torpedo’s Brautigan issue, which naturally had a number of American authors. We must continue to believe in and buy the journals that we love, and with what seems to me to be a fairly apparent migration in readers towards smaller press work (regarding work that might be characterised as new, whatever might be your literary disposition.) We can, and will, go elsewhere. I’m optimistic that the money will follow the readers eventually, but the momentum of this event-site as Mr Niedenthal puts it will always precede the resources to maintain such a thing. In fact, with the life and intensity of online communities and journals, we are more able to aware of such fluctuations and tendencies, the incipience of new work surely more possible than it has ever been. Can our generation of writers be one that develops dozens of journals thatvmove from zine-like existence, to a McSweeney’s independence, then on to a New Yorker elite-status? I think the public are as bored with big mags as we writers are. I’ll do my best to think as productively as possible about this. There is no greater literary exigency for me than the notion that new writing should create its readership. We should not be waiting for the readers of the New Yorker to come to us.
Wow, a thoughtful thread of comments. For me, the most important point raised is that the elite, well-funded mags are not publishing new voices, emerging art, work otherwise unread. I am absolutely with Alec when he says, “the event-site of fiction is shifting ground.” I’m not sure how true this is in the US, but there is a fundamental problem here in Australia with the funding of literary magazines. Some of you might know the The Lifted Brow. I hear that even they, possibly the most successful unfunded literary magazine in Australia (since it has an audience in the US) are having difficulties. The government-supported magazines work under a stipulation that 95% of work that occurs in these journals must be by Australian writers. Otherwise their funding will be cut. As much as this protectionism might benefit the preservation of otherwise ignored local fictions, it is ignorant to the possibilities of some extremely productive literary experiments like Torpedo’s Brautigan issue, which naturally had a number of American authors. We must continue to believe in and buy the journals that we love, and with what seems to me to be a fairly apparent migration in readers towards smaller press work (regarding work that might be characterised as new, whatever might be your literary disposition.) We can, and will, go elsewhere. I’m optimistic that the money will follow the readers eventually, but the momentum of this event-site as Mr Niedenthal puts it will always precede the resources to maintain such a thing. In fact, with the life and intensity of online communities and journals, we are more able to aware of such fluctuations and tendencies, the incipience of new work surely more possible than it has ever been. Can our generation of writers be one that develops dozens of journals thatvmove from zine-like existence, to a McSweeney’s independence, then on to a New Yorker elite-status? I think the public are as bored with big mags as we writers are. I’ll do my best to think as productively as possible about this. There is no greater literary exigency for me than the notion that new writing should create its readership. We should not be waiting for the readers of the New Yorker to come to us.
Sorry, I didn’t do well to integrate that point about the government funding. Just like I think the money will eventually follow these new tendencies as readers change, as some of these things concretize in the literary community’s readership the government funding will naturally follow if the change is conspicuous enough, if the success or significance is too difficult to ignore. No government agency with the purpose of maintaining such a culture (their words) would be stupid enough to ignore these things if it made them look bad for being irrelevant.
Sorry, I didn’t do well to integrate that point about the government funding. Just like I think the money will eventually follow these new tendencies as readers change, as some of these things concretize in the literary community’s readership the government funding will naturally follow if the change is conspicuous enough, if the success or significance is too difficult to ignore. No government agency with the purpose of maintaining such a culture (their words) would be stupid enough to ignore these things if it made them look bad for being irrelevant.
Right. The situation adapts to a new formulation of “artistic truth.” I think there is much to be said for the condensation of sources of literature which Justin has blueprinted above. The novel condition of literature might set in quicker that way.
Right. The situation adapts to a new formulation of “artistic truth.” I think there is much to be said for the condensation of sources of literature which Justin has blueprinted above. The novel condition of literature might set in quicker that way.
[…] Just so I can stay true to the purpose of this blog, I have not had any rejections. I don’t really care if I get any rejections. Everything about my life feels so trivial right now. I feel selfish and lucky and guilty that I get to live what is a really amazing life and so many others don’t. I am starting to think Haiti is like a prison and only a lucky few escape and I am the child of two such lucky escapees only one of those escapees is insane and has chosen to return to the asylum (she says to her father). I need to find a way past this because there’s so much that is amazing about Haiti, really there is but right now, it is hard to hold onto those good things and it is pretty hard to imagine a future for that place. I selected the story for this week’s Smokelong Quarterly, The Strain of Collusion by xTx. It is a story I love and that moved me a great deal. I hope you love it as much as I do. I use the word “that” too much. I use too many commas. I use the words “I think” too much. I do think too much. I have opinions I am not afraid to share. […]
[…] Gina Frangello, Matt Bell, and Timothy Schaffert weighed in. But this wasn’t quite the end: Roxane Gay added her two cents about Genoways’s argument over at HTMLGIANT—and once again the comments exploded […]
[…] Media, Story-Telling on January 19, 2010 at 12:48 pm Interesting post on HTML Giant right now about “the death” of literary magazines. Says writer Roxane Gay: It is a real shame to see some of the most well-established literary […]
[…] the article. And here’s a nice takedown at HTML Giant by Roxane […]
“Sometimes I think these editors and writers who constantly propagate this idea of “literary death”, are secretly wanting it to die, so it can be more precious and more protected, then resulting in less outlets of control and less outlets of controlling power. It will then be in the hands of very few, like in times before, instead of the growth it is experiencing now.”
Word, word, word word. Seems like over the last 15 if not 50 years, any art form wants to be substituted into that quotation. All this “____ is dead” bleating tends to strike me as rather bratty. As if others could be so dense and black-hearted as to be disinterested in supporting one’s own art.
I attended a talk recently including, among others, Jac Jemc, Zach Plague/Dodson, Kyle Beachy, Mary Hamilton I believe… and Beachy said one thing that separates Chicago from other arts and lit meccas is that nobody comes here to get famous. As Mike said above:
“The short version: If you’ve got the time to write, that’s wonderful. If you make some sandwich money on the side, that’s a small miracle. If you make a living on your work, that’s strange and absurd and beautiful. The rest of us will be fine.”
My point in bringing this up is to question the motives behind these “___ dead” people. Maybe I’m being a little overly bright-eyed here, but what is that writers write for? If it’s to write well and then get people’s eyes on it then ftw, and if the going’s too tough for Genoways he should F#@% off. There’s plenty of new blood ready and able to step right up (see Roxanne’s five links above for starters).
“I will never understand why magazines continue to publish articles which look backward rather than forward, in no way cover new ground or offer practical solutions that are grounded in hope rather than pessimism.” THANK YOU ROXANNE!
I would kill, and maybe something fairly cute even, to have 1% of Genoways submissions for my zine.
[Full disclosure: I’m receiving a BFA in writing from a major art’s institution in 4 months.]
“Sometimes I think these editors and writers who constantly propagate this idea of “literary death”, are secretly wanting it to die, so it can be more precious and more protected, then resulting in less outlets of control and less outlets of controlling power. It will then be in the hands of very few, like in times before, instead of the growth it is experiencing now.”
Word, word, word word. Seems like over the last 15 if not 50 years, any art form wants to be substituted into that quotation. All this “____ is dead” bleating tends to strike me as rather bratty. As if others could be so dense and black-hearted as to be disinterested in supporting one’s own art.
I attended a talk recently including, among others, Jac Jemc, Zach Plague/Dodson, Kyle Beachy, Mary Hamilton I believe… and Beachy said one thing that separates Chicago from other arts and lit meccas is that nobody comes here to get famous. As Mike said above:
“The short version: If you’ve got the time to write, that’s wonderful. If you make some sandwich money on the side, that’s a small miracle. If you make a living on your work, that’s strange and absurd and beautiful. The rest of us will be fine.”
My point in bringing this up is to question the motives behind these “___ dead” people. Maybe I’m being a little overly bright-eyed here, but what is that writers write for? If it’s to write well and then get people’s eyes on it then ftw, and if the going’s too tough for Genoways he should F#@% off. There’s plenty of new blood ready and able to step right up (see Roxanne’s five links above for starters).
“I will never understand why magazines continue to publish articles which look backward rather than forward, in no way cover new ground or offer practical solutions that are grounded in hope rather than pessimism.” THANK YOU ROXANNE!
I would kill, and maybe something fairly cute even, to have 1% of Genoways submissions for my zine.
[Full disclosure: I’m receiving a BFA in writing from a major art’s institution in 4 months.]
amen
amen
I just thank Roxane for the critique of Genoways, and more than that, thank you all for this conversation string, the whole of which convinces me that smart people still care about fiction and reading and writing, and will continue to.
I just thank Roxane for the critique of Genoways, and more than that, thank you all for this conversation string, the whole of which convinces me that smart people still care about fiction and reading and writing, and will continue to.
When you say “no good stories have come from the Iraq war,” do you include Antin’s?
When you say “no good stories have come from the Iraq war,” do you include Antin’s?
[…] literary magazines whose basic architecture Alec Niedenthal and I sketched out in the comments on Roxane’s post yesterday, and people like Paul Wolfowitz have all been eaten by wild dogs, we will all sit around and laugh […]
What Mike said.
What Mike said.
I don’t think so, either.
I don’t think so, either.
fourthed
fourthed
blah blah. You can tell these comments were all made by writers; they’re so verbose.
I write fiction. And no, it hasn’t been published yet, and no I don’t care if it gets published in one of these prententious publications out by people who live in an ivory tower. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the pretentious literary world. Fiction hasn’t died. Fiction isn’t gonna die. What’s gonna die (hopefully) is this prententious literary world that thinks it knows so much about good fiction.
blah blah. You can tell these comments were all made by writers; they’re so verbose.
I write fiction. And no, it hasn’t been published yet, and no I don’t care if it gets published in one of these prententious publications out by people who live in an ivory tower. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the pretentious literary world. Fiction hasn’t died. Fiction isn’t gonna die. What’s gonna die (hopefully) is this prententious literary world that thinks it knows so much about good fiction.
[…] Sullivan printed a comment, about a comment, about the death of fiction. The prime piece is in mother jones, and discusses the shaky future of […]
Roxanne Gay writes in the article above:
“It is indeed frustrating that the American public is largely disinterested in literary magazines…”
Every teacher in the country has told his/her 5th grade class that this is incorrect English, “disinterested” having been substituted for “uninterested”.
Perhaps we should master our own language before attempting to pontificate on the state of fiction and literary magazines today.
[…] Post-Mortem Post Jump to Comments Is literary fiction dying thanks to the preponderance of MFA programs, as Ted Genoways, editor of the Virginia Quarterly Review holds? Only if you believe in deaths of the Black Knight in Monty Python variety, writes Roxane Gay. […]
pontificate
pontificate
The only people unduly concerned with the “death of fiction” are the people trying to make money off it.
The only people unduly concerned with the “death of fiction” are the people trying to make money off it.
[…] on that tried argument that the novel should be dead and buried. The venerable HTMLGIANT published a great counter-argument citing many prestigious online journals that have sprung up in recent memory as proof that […]
[…] -Ted Genoway, editor of Virginia Quarterly, wrote a seemingly-misinformed, pessimistic editorial about the fate of literature (how ground-breaking!); Roxanne Gay of PANK Magazine rebutted by saying everything I was thinking, and then some. […]
whassup rockers
whassup rockers