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.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto

Written by: Chuck Klosterman

So, I admit, I'm a little late to the Chuck Klosterman parade - especially this, his most "famous" book (if it can be described as such). In my defense, I was in the midst of my undergraduate career when this book and its author rose in popularity. This was a point in my life in which my attempt to identify myself as "hip" included a necessary aversion to things that others offered as "hip," whether or not I would have actually enjoyed those things myself. Long story short, I'm just getting around to this now.

This book is mainly a collection of essays reflecting on and critiquing the nature of "popular culture." (And some of you are probably saying, "Aren't all of Klosterman's books like that?" My answer: Yes, they probably are. Oh well.)

Although I enjoyed the book, I do feel that all of the essays suffer from a cookie-cutter feel. Each one describes a feature of popular culture with witty observations, occasionally with a cynical venture into participation with that cultural feature to then return with more witty and cynical observations. I never felt like essays delved any deeper than a smirking know-it-all observation. Nothing seems to shake him from his tower of smug superiority. The best essayists (such as Joan Didion) are able to make the same type observations, but also reflect on how the experience has affected themselves. Klosterman never quite reaches that point, and after a while it became disappointing.

A few of the standout essays include:

1. "George Will vs. Nick Hornby" basically blasts youth soccer leagues as undercutting social development.

2. "What Happens When People Stop Being Polite" discusses the character archetypes used on reality TV shows like "The Real World."

3. "Billy Sim" discusses the nature of desire in relation to how the video game "The Sims" is played.

You get what you pay for with Klosterman - no more, no less. I enjoyed the book with the same sense of detachment which he imparted with his writing. It's enjoyable, just don't expect anything deeper than what the title implies.

Poor People

The heart of William T. Vollmann’s 2007 book on world-wide poverty is a simple question: “Why are you poor?” Yet the simplicity of most of the answers that he received from impoverished people throughout the world allowed him to write this reflection on the nature of poverty. At times powerful and depressing, this book exposes life under the poverty line all over the world and the reality of what it means to live, as Adam Smith declared, not being able to “afford to enjoy the necessaries, conveniences, and amusements of human life.”

Vollmann neatly breaks apart this longer philosophical work into several categories into which all of the chapters fit (with each chapter being, essentially, an individual essay or reflection), and so that is how I will break apart my discussion of his work.

In the first section, “Self-Defintions,” Vollmann provides us first with definitions which provide us the ability to discuss poverty, given that poverty itself exists as a somewhat abstract (if, at the same time, completely tangible) idea within the complex social-structure that is humanity. From here, he begins to paint us several portraits of poverty all over the world, from the drunk Sunee in Thailand to two beggar women in Russia (including their clearly disabled families) to two Japanese men who live under a bridge in Kyoto. These portraits are sometimes touching, sometimes disturbing, always interesting. From these sketches, Vollmann clearly reveals that poverty is not the same everywhere for everyone, including how the people came to poverty and even if the people consider themselves poor.

From here, Vollmann moves into his second section, “Phenomena,” in which he describes aspects of poverty evident at different levels in all poor people. These phenomena are invisibility, deformity, unwantedness, dependence, accident-prone-ness, pain, numbness, and estrangement. The most personally striking section is his explanation of how impoverished people everywhere suffer from invisibility, even though their suffering is evident. (Personally, it reminds me of the often deep poverty in which some of my students in Lynwood existed, though my ignorance often blinded me into denial of their circumstances.) Think about it – aren’t there parts of your own town, the poor part of town, that you won’t go? Through not driving through “skid row,” you have rendered those who live there invisible.

The third section, “Choices,” reveals choices which are not truly choices that the truly impoverished must live through in the attempt to escape poverty. He discusses the economic “amoritization” of labor to pay for freedom from poor circumstances, most often through prostitution, but sometimes through darker-than-mafia groups arranging marriages for visas at a massive human cost. Some, such as those in an oil town in Kazahkhstan sacrifice the poisoning of their health for new, nicer roads brought in by the American oil money.

Of course, Vollmann also touches on the “Hopes” that keep those who are in poverty use to keep surviving despite all of the odds being stacked against them. This hope of removal from poverty is most evident in the person of Gary, who gambles nightly on a lottery drawing that he knows is rigged. This hope also exists in the poor community which cleans its own toilet (really, a bowl) without any set outline of responsibility or consequences.

In the last section, “Placeholders,” Vollmann discusses his own personal feelings and experiences with poverty in proximity to his home. Most interesting, to me, was how he compassionately he interacts with the poor who vandalize his property, while, counter intuitively, he fears for the safety of himself and his property. Ultimately, Vollmann leaves us with no single answer or solution, aside from a reference to the pathetic United Nations call for “more aid, better directed.”

Aside from the hollow feeling left by the lack of any sort of positive resolution (and what did I really expect from a book titled “Poor People”), this book is fantastic. It effectively examines and reflects upon poverty through several lenses – statistics, science and psychology, personal experiences, and the visual. The use of photographs of most of those interviewed (except those who feared reprisal from authorities) makes every scene more vivid and powerful. Yet, at no point do Vollmann’s words request guilt or acceptance of blame from the reader. Instead, the book calls the reader to search his or her own soul and to examine his or her own thoughts and feelings about poverty. And, as such a thought provoking book, it is one of the best pieces of non-fiction I’ve ever read.

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.

Manhood for Amateurs

A few months ago, I stumbled across this new Michael Chabon book at the local book megalopolis and bought it without hesitation, even though I was still in the middle of reading "Maps and Legends" (reviewed here earlier). Surprisingly, although the book was published in October, there isn't much online for it. Rather, the book seems to have arrived without much fanfare or comment. (In fact, if you closely examine Chabon's Wikipedia page, there's still nothing about it.)

The full title of the book is "Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son." The cover depicts a type of "compass" for manhood, which pretty well

Essentially, the book is a collection of essays (and most of them very short) on the topic of "manhood" (at once a dubious term, after finishing reading). The essays are broken into four "movements," beginning generally with childhood and moving through life - young adulthood, marriage (and divorce), fatherhood, and ending with some thoughts on human mortality (not unlike the Joyce classic "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.")

What is amazing about Michael Chabon's work, as always, is his ability to use the mundane and common to signify something much deeper about the human condition. For example, in one essay he uses a description of a gift his father gave him - some old baseball cards - to launch into a reflection on how his father symbolically passed on to him the All-American-Man game of baseball. In another, a question from one of his little sons about how to draw a girl leads into a larger discussion as to whether or not, as men, we can ever truly understand women.

The weakest phase in the book is in regards to middle-age and beyond, though I attribute this to his lack of experience and perspective on those matters.

Whereas the essays in "Maps and Legends" discussed larger cultural issues - the value of genre fiction - the essays in "Manhood" are much shorter and incredibly personal. This is a new side of Michael Chabon. Until now, his novels have remained largely impersonal. We've been forced to interpret him through his plots and characters - such as Grady Tripp's struggles with writing his book in "Wonder Boys" as a reflection of Chabon's own attempts to finish his second novel "Fountain City." (And, as a would-be critic, this reasoning is weak at best and irresponsible at worst.) Still, even here - when Chabon seems to be revealing everything to us - he still hides behind a thin mist of symbolism and metaphor - as though he can't exactly tell us some things directly.

Chabon's writing is still masterful and entertaining. I'm happy to pass this book on to my dad, as well as to re-read it in the years and years to come.

Maps and Legends

The first edition of Michael Chabon’s “Maps and Legends” – put out by the great McSweeney's Publishing in 2008 – has perhaps the most interesting cover I have ever seen. The actual hardcover volume has several colorful and uniquely decorated paper dust jackets, each a little smaller than the one underneath, which are spread so that you are able to see a bit of each at the same time.

This opening invitation to inspect and look at each intricate dust jacket, each as its own cover and as part of the larger cover artwork, is a metaphor that can be extended to the contents of the book. Each essay can be read as an individual piece of writing, or as part of the larger book.

It would be irresponsible for me to describe each individual essay of the book instead of encouraging you to savor them yourself, so instead I’ll stick to discussing the larger themes and highlighting a . (Truth Time: It would be TIME CONSUMING for me to describe each essay, and I’m feeling very, very lazy).

The title essay describes Chabon’s childhood fascination with enterprising through his neighborhood and planned wilderness (he practically had a forest for a backyard), and then creating personalized maps for the area. Although my own childhood took place in a grid-structured suburb which left little to actually be discovered, I was still able to relate to the childhood urge to explore, to find and expand boundaries – both literal and metaphorical.

These ideas of adventure, exploration, and boundaries are the central theme of the book, even when the essays are ostensibly about other subjects.

For example, one piece consists of a book review of Cormac McCarthy’s novel “The Road” (reviewed here earlier) but much of the work attempts to define the “borderland” between genre-fiction and “serious” fiction that McCarthy’s masterpiece inhabits. Another part seems to be an extended review of Phillip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy (which I still haven’t read, and, somehow, lack even a sliver of an urge to read), but really questions the nature of the ever-hazy Young Adult form of literature. There is even an essay about the history of Sherlock Holmes which leads to a discussion of the history of fan fiction and fan fiction’s place in the halls of literature. (There are, of course, parts on the relevance of comic books - one of Chabon's recurring subjects.)

The biggest pitfall of the book is that several of the essays center their argument around very specific subjects (such as Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road”). If you do not have the requisite background knowledge, reading these chapters can be like wandering an unfamiliar city without a map (if you don’t mind me using the map metaphor). This is not to say that these parts are not enjoyable, but just that it can be harder to find the intellectual landmarks which make them interesting. (In the language of teaching - which I am occasionally wont to use - cultural capital makes the book understandable.)

Ultimately, in the spirit of the work, I’m going to encourage you to have an adventure – take a jump, explore the book, and make your own map!