The Ecstasy of Influence

By: Jonthan Lethem












Jonathan Lethem has always had a strong way with prose, and his novels are usually pretty well written.  But, personally, I've always found it just as interesting to hear him talk about his work, so I was excited to hear about a new collection of his non-fiction.

In the interest of saving time, I'm not going to do an essay-by-essay analysis of the text.  Instead, I'll just go over a couple of the highlights and touch on a couple of the weaker points.

The first few essays were the most fascinating for me.  In them, he discusses his time working in various bookstores across the country.  He analyzes both the day-to-day life of working as a bookstore clerk, as well as sharing some of the sub-cultures who roam the stacks.

The title essay "The Ecstasy of Influence" is also fantastic.  In it, he outlines - in what can almost be described as a manifesto - the importance of influence in literature or for any piece of artwork.  To prove his point, he reveals at the end that most of the essay itself had been culled from other pieces of literature.  It's a fascinating read and well worth tracking down online.

There are a few essays that were a little too experimental for my taste.  There is also a whole section of essays devoted to "The Mad Brooklynite" which I had a hard time connecting with, both at a literary level and because I have never been there personally.

Overall, "The Ecstasy of Influence" is a great collection, although it could have been trimmed down and cleaned up a bit.

Read Hard

Five Years of Great Writing from "The Believer"

Edited by Ed Park and Heidi Julavits

For those of you who do not know, “The Beliver” is the monthly, non-fiction left-jab to “McSweeney’s” quarterly, fictional right-uppercut (although, considering I know nothing about boxing, I might have the whole metaphor flip-flopped). This book collects the best (arguably) pieces from the first five years of the magazine’s history and puts them in one place for those of us who either did not know the magazine existed or – as in my case – could not the darn periodical.

I added “arguably” to a sentence in my opening argument not because I did not feel that some of the essays were great, but rather because I could not tell whether some of the essays were great or not. One of the factors that makes “The Believer” such a fantastic magazine – the editors’ lack of inhibition in publishing essays regarding just about any subject or theme – also contributes to the book’s biggest weakness. For many of the essays, I could decipher that the piece was well written – but I lacked the cultural capital to make it accessible. Frankly, in some cases, I had no more than a shadowing understanding of what the essay was about.

The perfect example of this inability to relate to the essay is Franklin Bruno’s piece “In Praise of Termites,” which discusses the life and work of film critic Manny Farber. The article repeatedly referenced Farber’s writings on film theory – which I have not read, and I doubt most non-film major people have read. The article also discusses how Farber interpreted several movies which I have never heard of and, obviously, never seen. By the time I finished reading this seventeen page monster, I only had a vague understanding of Farber’s work.

The book does have many great essays, though. (And, in retrospect, I should have probably started by discussing those pieces instead.) One of my favorites is Paul LaFarge’s explanation / history / personal narrative regarding “Dungeons & Dragons.” LaFarge infuses D&D metaphors throughout the essay to help explain the game (such as “entering the cave” instead of “learning about the game). Yet, after introducing the essence and dynamics of the game to the readers, the essay shifts into a history of how the game was developed and what happened to the intellectual property rights. Finally, the third act begins a personal narrative of how the writer game to play a game of D&D with the game’s most recognized developer (there were many, we learn earlier).

Another fantastic piece – and perhaps my favorite – is “The Sinatra Doctrine” by Rich Cohen. Cohen’s essay fantastically weaves the story of the song “My Way” together with a the song’s most famous performers and how they came to sing it. We are strung along through a history which begins with Paul Anka writing the song as a farewell for Frank Sinatra, explains how that farewell actually revitalized Sinatra’s career, connects Sinatra’s disdain for rock and roll to how Elvis eventually began performing the song himself, and reveals how punk rock’s rejection of Elvis’s cooption of rock and roll’s soul led to the Sid Vicious performing the song. Ultimately, we are lead back to Paul Anka – the original writer (though he stole the tune from an unsuccessful French pop piece) – still performing his most famous piece of music, although he did not make it famous himself.

Other highlights include William T. Vollmann’s meditation on the destruction of war – “And Suppress the Unpleasant Things” – and Joe Hagan’s search for the greatest musician to ever disappear off the face of the earth – “Transit Byzantium.” Ginger Strand’s examination of the history and purpose of aquariums – “Why Look at Fish?” – was cute and enlightening. Jonathan Lethem’s “The American Vicarious” takes a snapshot of Nathaniel West’s short novels and their relevance to modern society, although I felt that it was over before the intellectual momentum began.

I recommend this book, but only for people who are ready for an intellectual workout and are not afraid to find out how little they actually know about significant parts of our modern American (or in some cases, international) culture. At least I can use what I found out I don’t know as a springboard to find out more next time I am at the library.

You Don't Love Me Yet

After a heavy read like "Blood Meridian," I tried to ease up a bit and read something a little more lighthearted. Glancing at my shelf, I saw a book I had found in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble, got excited about and bought, and then instantly forgot about - Jonathan Lethem's 2007 novel "You Don't Love Me Yet."

The book follows a few months in the life of Lucinda Hoekke, tracing the rise and fall of her unnamed band. As the novel begins, she is working for an abstract artist answering and documenting phone call complaints. In her free time, she jams with a band which seems to have a lot of potential (in terms of character), but which hasn't written a breakthrough song, or even played a gig. One day she gets a call from a complainer (a recurring complainer, in fact), and she falls in love with him. During the conversations of their affair, she picks up on several unique phrases - such as "monster eyes" - which inspire her to help write some lyrics which eventually become the bands strongest song. The band gets their first gig at a failed art experiment which morphs into a real party and gets them some positive attention Unfortunately, the complainer was also at the party, and leverages his creation of many of their lyrics into making the band let him join. The complainer then sabotages the band's radio appearance, and they miss their big chance. Yet, in the end, everyone is paired off and happy.

(Oh yeah, and somewhere in the book is a subplot about the guitar player kidnapping a kangaroo from the LA zoo and the zoo denying it to save face.)

The book's biggest limitation was the inability to actually hear the band. Very little is ever even said about how their music would sound - there is a distinct lack of sensory detail for the reader's ears (if that makes sense, somehow).

I remember that there was a lot of negative feedback for Lethem when the book came out. And not undeserved, I can confidently say. This novel pales in comparison to his other novels, and isn't even in the same league as his masterpiece - "The Fortress of Solitude."

But, on the other hand, this novel never really aspires to be that type of book. So how can we complain when it doesn't achieve it? It's more like the outline for a romantic comedy with a twist-of-Lethem (mostly in the names of the characters). It

I can say that it was a nice, smooth read, and that it didn't require a lot of thinking - unlike "Walden" and "Blood Meridian." I can't say that it belongs on the same shelf as those books, though. It doesn't. It just doesn't.