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Wood Not Waiting For Mean Week
Wow. In these days of all Nicey-Nice, I thought the truly scathing book review went the way of disco or actually meeting someone before you made them your “Friend.” I was wrong. Picked up a New Yorker (OK, it’s a month old, which is like a decade in Internet years, but bear with me) all crumpled/curled on my bedside table in Relaxed Rat position, and inside James Wood takes Paul Auster to the blender.
If you need a primer on evisceration via book review, here you go:
Wood says all Paul Auster novels are the same—in his title, “Shallow Graves.”
Wood mimics and mocks Paul Auster in the opening, pulling a little Hemingway/Sherwood Anderson parody. He tries to make the point: 1.) Look how easy it is to write like this guy. 2.) Look how crappy this writing is on the page.
Wood accuses Auster of lazy writing. Wood says Auster’s characters are stock, the situations “cinematic” and his dialogue cliche (or worse, “bogus.”). Wood says Auster utilizes that old standby deus ex machina, not in one novel (Auster’s latest, “Invisible,” supposedly being reviewed here) but in every novel.
Wood: “This being an Auster novel, accidents visit the narrative like automobiles falling from the sky.”
Wood then goes for the actual sentence, the word: “Although there are some things to admire in Auster’s fiction, the prose is never one of them.”
Yum.
Wood says Auster’s novels can be read “very fast.” When I lived in the deep south, people used to give these types of “compliments.” It’s an art form in itself.
“I didn’t even know they made sweaters like that anymore, very cool!”
“You are so real…”
Here is a little poem I wrote from the remaining 4,000 or so liters of Wood asp venom:
Balsa-wood backstory
Unwisely
Excruciating
Gone to seed
Fake realism
Denies the incest
Shallow skepticism
Texts stutter
Less complex than it seems…
Wood compares Auster’s novels to postage stamps.
Lick.
and
Stick.
Wood finishes by advising Paul Auster to increase the silence. To write less. To stop writing.
God knows, I don’t want to question this irascible Wood fellow–and, full disclosure, I have read a grand total of two Auster novels–but I actually thought some of Auster’s corny dialogue and cliche characterizations were wink, wink, glossy-time stuff like Tarantino and his pop culture as high art via Andy Warhol via The Simpsons, something. Paul Auster appears as Paul Auster in his novels, ninja sword play in the Pringles aisle, that sort of idea. I know, I know, that isn’t enough–clever is a thin, thin drug, and that’s fair. I’m just saying.
And am I missing some back story? Did Auster drop Wood’s Tangy Taffy in the sand somewhere back during AWP Jamaica, circa 1978? Wood is a perceptive critic, no doubt, and I have enjoyed his mind in the past, but this one cut-block to the knees, went after the book, the body, the career, and then switches to attack any critics who might enjoy Auster. That’s an unusual one, to leap from word to blood to removed reader, Other voice.
Here’s my stock character prediction for Auster’s next novel: Cambridge educated literary critic. Insert butler.
And a gun.
Tags: Book review, James Wood, Paul Auster
Yeah. He pretty much takes a dump in Auster’s mouth. Very Austrian. Auster had it coming, though. You ever read an interview w/ Auster or watch him give one on television? He is an insufferable twat. Auster basically says that his characters “channel” him. And I’m glad that Wood mentions the obnoxious habit that Auster has of populating his works with semi-invalid characters who are still, despite their infirmary, able to make every woman they come in contact with have multiple orgasms.
Yeah. He pretty much takes a dump in Auster’s mouth. Very Austrian. Auster had it coming, though. You ever read an interview w/ Auster or watch him give one on television? He is an insufferable twat. Auster basically says that his characters “channel” him. And I’m glad that Wood mentions the obnoxious habit that Auster has of populating his works with semi-invalid characters who are still, despite their infirmary, able to make every woman they come in contact with have multiple orgasms.
One could hardly expect otherwise from the author of “How Fiction Works,” a book that would seem to disqualify him as gatekeeper for the “postmodern.”
One could hardly expect otherwise from the author of “How Fiction Works,” a book that would seem to disqualify him as gatekeeper for the “postmodern.”
the douche master Wood farts again
the douche master Wood farts again
Wood has definitely been wrong (see: Rivka Galchen), and will likely continue to be wrong in the future, but he was on point with this one. Auster had a spark when he started but now he’s just garbage.
Wood has definitely been wrong (see: Rivka Galchen), and will likely continue to be wrong in the future, but he was on point with this one. Auster had a spark when he started but now he’s just garbage.
what is wrong with fake realism and texts that stutter?
what is wrong with fake realism and texts that stutter?
AWP Jamaica 1978
i have a cold, but i laughed anyway
AWP Jamaica 1978
i have a cold, but i laughed anyway
‘Auster basically says that his characters “channel” him.’
What does that mean?
‘Auster basically says that his characters “channel” him.’
What does that mean?
That means that he sits and waits until his characters speak to him, and then he writes, but he has no control over what they are saying. They speak through him. In other words, he is a fucking conduit. Mind you, that’s what HE says, not me. He has said it in two different interviews, one with Charlie Rose, the other with someone who is not Charlie Rose.
That means that he sits and waits until his characters speak to him, and then he writes, but he has no control over what they are saying. They speak through him. In other words, he is a fucking conduit. Mind you, that’s what HE says, not me. He has said it in two different interviews, one with Charlie Rose, the other with someone who is not Charlie Rose.
And so, having reported on an eight-week-old book review’s content, complete with self-referential headline and content to give image of post having some “it’s about me” part in the conversation, exit our hackblogger stage right.
And so, having reported on an eight-week-old book review’s content, complete with self-referential headline and content to give image of post having some “it’s about me” part in the conversation, exit our hackblogger stage right.
Wood’s schtick is to clothe his backasswards literary tics and prejudices as Olympian edicts. Even when he praises interesting and innovative authors (like Saramago, Bolano, Lydia Davis, Sebald, etc) he invariably does so in the most conservative terms — essentially domesticating/defanging them for his upper-middle-class book clubbing audience.
Full disclosure: I run a JW hate blog.
Wood’s schtick is to clothe his backasswards literary tics and prejudices as Olympian edicts. Even when he praises interesting and innovative authors (like Saramago, Bolano, Lydia Davis, Sebald, etc) he invariably does so in the most conservative terms — essentially domesticating/defanging them for his upper-middle-class book clubbing audience.
Full disclosure: I run a JW hate blog.
don’t be a wuss, nester.
don’t be a wuss, nester.
Who’s a media critic now?
Who’s a media critic now?
Dude I said it was old in the opening. You could have stopped reading then (that’s why it was the first thing I said).
Dude I said it was old in the opening. You could have stopped reading then (that’s why it was the first thing I said).
hackblogger I do like
hackblogger I do like
It’s hacky. I didn’t read the whole thing.
It’s hacky. I didn’t read the whole thing.
As I think of it, however, there hasn’t been a whole lot of talk about this review. Just seemed to take a long time. Get a subscription!
As I think of it, however, there hasn’t been a whole lot of talk about this review. Just seemed to take a long time. Get a subscription!
the pressure to be “current” is as omnipresent as it is insidious.
the pressure to be “current” is as omnipresent as it is insidious.
Well, it is a blog.
Well, it is a blog.
exactly.
exactly.
good feedback. A part of me was asking, This is old. Don’t post about old. But then I am old and I read it last night and I was like, Fuck it.
Still mixed on it though.
My next post will be about something two days in the future.
good feedback. A part of me was asking, This is old. Don’t post about old. But then I am old and I read it last night and I was like, Fuck it.
Still mixed on it though.
My next post will be about something two days in the future.
There you go. Am watching JJ Abrams Star Trek on HD on Demand, and they’re using the same sort of from-the-future scheme. It works here.
There you go. Am watching JJ Abrams Star Trek on HD on Demand, and they’re using the same sort of from-the-future scheme. It works here.
if you ask wood, he’d say everything. unless, of course, it’s written in free indirect discourse.
I’ve always liked Auster, but he’s had a few books that really stunk (I don’t ever want to read another story about the magic or majesty of fucking storytelling again). Those books are far outweighed by the rest though. This review seemed written more out of pique than conviction.
if you ask wood, he’d say everything. unless, of course, it’s written in free indirect discourse.
I’ve always liked Auster, but he’s had a few books that really stunk (I don’t ever want to read another story about the magic or majesty of fucking storytelling again). Those books are far outweighed by the rest though. This review seemed written more out of pique than conviction.
That would mean he channels the characters, no? Not the other way around.
That would mean he channels the characters, no? Not the other way around.
Depends on whether the fakeness and the stuttering are artistic choices or just signs of bad writing. Stutter.
Depends on whether the fakeness and the stuttering are artistic choices or just signs of bad writing. Stutter.
Jetsons time, baby
Jetsons time, baby
Do you have anything to say about this other than that it was “mean”? Wood felt he had a case to prosecute, and so he did. His argument is derived from an emphatically subjective and imminently knowable position. He spent a considerable amount of time considering a body of work–taking it very seriously–and then came to a critical judgment about its merit. What is so wrong with that? Why do you immediately have to assume that his judgments are the result of some personal grievance, rather than simply the result of his employment of his critical faculties–ie the thing that the New Yorker is paying him for?
If you take issue with his position, great. I’d love to hear the rejoinder, that is, if it’s anything that hasn’t already been said in the two major pieces criticizing Wood, n+1’s ’04 piece about The New Republic or more recently in The Nation.
Do you hear the shock in your own tone when you write “Wood then goes for the actual sentence, the word.” As if this was some sort of transgression! What else would you have the critic of literature “go for”? And if you really thought that JW was so far beyond the pale in what he wrote, then why would you try to wrap things up by asserting you are “no doubt” he is “perceptive critic”? What else has he written that you liked? Where does his aesthetic meet with yours–where does it diverge? How does reading this piece of his change or impact your reading of anything else he’s written? Of the few Auster books you *have* read? (Wood, one assumes, has read them all.)
I’m sorry to go off on you like this–not that sorry, but sort of sorry–but it feels necessary for me to say that this whole thing reads to me like you simply object to criticism as such, as if the idea that someone might feel strongly about something were itself the offense. If I’m reading you right, you’re hardly in the minority–it seems like a majority of writers, at least those on “the scene” feel the way you do. Everyone is supposed to like everything, and then express that like in three or so lines of semi-coherent surrealist prose-poetry, then move on to the next whatever. It feels to me like you’re looking for a way to just write Wood’s criticisms off as quickly as possible so you don’t have to deal with them–which I understand is probably not the case, or why would you have bothered to post about it at all? But that’s how it reads.
Do you have anything to say about this other than that it was “mean”? Wood felt he had a case to prosecute, and so he did. His argument is derived from an emphatically subjective and imminently knowable position. He spent a considerable amount of time considering a body of work–taking it very seriously–and then came to a critical judgment about its merit. What is so wrong with that? Why do you immediately have to assume that his judgments are the result of some personal grievance, rather than simply the result of his employment of his critical faculties–ie the thing that the New Yorker is paying him for?
If you take issue with his position, great. I’d love to hear the rejoinder, that is, if it’s anything that hasn’t already been said in the two major pieces criticizing Wood, n+1’s ’04 piece about The New Republic or more recently in The Nation.
Do you hear the shock in your own tone when you write “Wood then goes for the actual sentence, the word.” As if this was some sort of transgression! What else would you have the critic of literature “go for”? And if you really thought that JW was so far beyond the pale in what he wrote, then why would you try to wrap things up by asserting you are “no doubt” he is “perceptive critic”? What else has he written that you liked? Where does his aesthetic meet with yours–where does it diverge? How does reading this piece of his change or impact your reading of anything else he’s written? Of the few Auster books you *have* read? (Wood, one assumes, has read them all.)
I’m sorry to go off on you like this–not that sorry, but sort of sorry–but it feels necessary for me to say that this whole thing reads to me like you simply object to criticism as such, as if the idea that someone might feel strongly about something were itself the offense. If I’m reading you right, you’re hardly in the minority–it seems like a majority of writers, at least those on “the scene” feel the way you do. Everyone is supposed to like everything, and then express that like in three or so lines of semi-coherent surrealist prose-poetry, then move on to the next whatever. It feels to me like you’re looking for a way to just write Wood’s criticisms off as quickly as possible so you don’t have to deal with them–which I understand is probably not the case, or why would you have bothered to post about it at all? But that’s how it reads.
there should be more negative reviews. otherwise reviewers are just advertisers. and that’s makes us all suckers.
there should be more negative reviews. otherwise reviewers are just advertisers. and that’s makes us all suckers.
fuck
fuck