There’s a lot to say, and a lot being said, on the recent death of author J.D. Salinger. I don’t have much to say other than same random thoughts, as I’ve always seen Catcher in the Rye as middling and didn’t really get what the fuss was about. A professor I had in undergrad said you had to read the book as a teenager first to get it; I didn’t read it until my 20s and he was right. But I can appreciate the influence the work has had since its publication and that it stands as one of the great works of American literature. As a writer, I would feel almost neglectful not making mention of Salinger in his death.
***
I like Joshua Ferris’s brief article appearing at the New Yorker site, here . He raises a good point: what books after Catcher have been, as Ferris puts it, “as galvanizing, controversial, wildly popular, and accomplished”? He mentions some reasonable titles that are close but don’t hit the mark. I’d maybe throw in Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie, but I don’t think it’s required reading or even widely read. I’m not sure anything is close, though, really.
***
Salinger is probably the epitome of that cultural phenomenon of author as recluse, coming before even Thomas Pynchon. James Earl Jones played a version of him in the film Field of Dreams (his name changed, and based on details of Salinger’s life, a more palatable person). Probably every movie that’s had the writer as hermit can thank Salinger for its portrayal.
***
There has been some indication that Salinger left behind numerous unpublished works. Who knows what is there and if it’s anything but the sort of unfinished miscellanea that often surface after an author’s death. Hopefully, though, if there are any insane orders to destroy these works, someone plays Max Brod to Salinger’s Kafka and ignores them. I understand the writer’s need for privacy and for someone to have their last wishes fulfilled, but when you’ve reached the level of a J.D. Salinger, the world should not be denied seeing whatever writings are left.
Showing posts with label misc.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label misc.. Show all posts
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, December 27, 2009
This Blog's Still Alive
Posts are just lighter because of the Christmas holiday season.
Keep checking Thinly Sliced Raw Fish for new stuff every other day for the time being.
Keep checking Thinly Sliced Raw Fish for new stuff every other day for the time being.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving!
I hope you're having a great Thanksgiving, spending time with friends and family, eating lots of great food, and considering the many things to be thankful for.
If you're here because you've got nothing else to do, the football games are blowouts, or you've had about enough of friends and family, may I recommend something from the archives? Check out something my 212-word, food/drink related stories.
If that's leaving you with indigestion, please try one of the various wonderful blogs I follow listed on my profile, here. You can't go wrong with any of them.
If you're here because you've got nothing else to do, the football games are blowouts, or you've had about enough of friends and family, may I recommend something from the archives? Check out something my 212-word, food/drink related stories.
If that's leaving you with indigestion, please try one of the various wonderful blogs I follow listed on my profile, here. You can't go wrong with any of them.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Talking Heads: Severance by Robert Olen Butler
There aren’t many single-author collections of flash fiction readily available. As it’s mostly new in terms of being a recognized form, and one that has also come of age along with the Internet, most of the collections I’ve seen are available solely online in electronic form or available in very limited print runs, and I imagine that most people, even those who are regular readers of books, don’t know they exist. Even more, single-author collections of flash fiction that focus on a particular theme--be it subject matter or particular word length--are even more difficult to find.
Robert Olen Butler’s 2006 book, Severance, is one of those rare instances of a single-author collection of flash fiction stories based on a particular theme and prescribed word length. It’s a collection of 62 works, each of which is 240 words in length. Each story follows the thoughts of a person who has just been decapitated, a rather morbid premise that lends itself to a rambling, stream of consciousness, almost poetic narration. For Mr. Butler, these stories were unlike any he had done and perhaps unlike any that have been seen.
The characters in these works range from actual historical figures to fictional ones and span the time from primitive humanity to the present. There are stories based on Medusa, John the Baptist and other biblical figures, a dragon, Anne Boleyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, a chicken, various unknown, average people throughout history, victims of more current events, and, the final, morbidly comic swing, the author himself at the end. Each story is prefaced by a brief description containing the decapitated’s name, who they were, when they died, and the circumstances behind their unfortunate end. A representative story can be found here (this one is of Dioscorus, a companion to the apostle Paul--there are some other samples at the Google Books link, if you care to wade through the slightly tedious preview function).
It would be easy to look at these works and say, these aren’t stories. Perhaps, though I dislike most discussions on whether or not certain works of flash fiction can be considered stories in terms of what we know makes a traditional story. I think one of the freeing things of the genre is that it opens up a wide range of possibilities for fiction. Sometimes, flash fiction resembles a prose poem, or a character sketch, or a list, or straight dialogue, or even a recipe or set of instructions.
One of the limitations of Mr. Butler’s premise is that the stories ultimately end up taking a similar form from one to the next. If each character has been decapitated, and the words represent the stream of consciousness of a dead person (something resembling an almost dreamlike state of narration) who’s involuntarily expending his/her last bit of thought, it’s unavoidable that you might end up with some repetition in terms of style. Robert Olen Butler, though, is a gifted writer who in all of his works displays a sense of humanity for each of his characters (even if they aren’t human); he can make the repetitious fresh, something not easily done.
I think it’s admirable and even to some extent essential that he went experimental and wrote these stories. It’s admirable to try something completely out of sorts when you have an established identity as a literary writer (Mr. Butler is the author of 11 novels and a handful of short story collections, including A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, which won the 1993 Pulitzer Prize). It’s essential in that I think it helps fiction grow when our best writers are taking chances and doing something different and not just rehashing what initially brought them acclaim.
Severance is not Mr. Butler's greatest work, but it is definitely his most experimental and unexpected. If you're fond of flash fiction or like to write it, it's an interesting study on how someone else has approached the form.
Robert Olen Butler’s 2006 book, Severance, is one of those rare instances of a single-author collection of flash fiction stories based on a particular theme and prescribed word length. It’s a collection of 62 works, each of which is 240 words in length. Each story follows the thoughts of a person who has just been decapitated, a rather morbid premise that lends itself to a rambling, stream of consciousness, almost poetic narration. For Mr. Butler, these stories were unlike any he had done and perhaps unlike any that have been seen.
The characters in these works range from actual historical figures to fictional ones and span the time from primitive humanity to the present. There are stories based on Medusa, John the Baptist and other biblical figures, a dragon, Anne Boleyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, a chicken, various unknown, average people throughout history, victims of more current events, and, the final, morbidly comic swing, the author himself at the end. Each story is prefaced by a brief description containing the decapitated’s name, who they were, when they died, and the circumstances behind their unfortunate end. A representative story can be found here (this one is of Dioscorus, a companion to the apostle Paul--there are some other samples at the Google Books link, if you care to wade through the slightly tedious preview function).
It would be easy to look at these works and say, these aren’t stories. Perhaps, though I dislike most discussions on whether or not certain works of flash fiction can be considered stories in terms of what we know makes a traditional story. I think one of the freeing things of the genre is that it opens up a wide range of possibilities for fiction. Sometimes, flash fiction resembles a prose poem, or a character sketch, or a list, or straight dialogue, or even a recipe or set of instructions.
One of the limitations of Mr. Butler’s premise is that the stories ultimately end up taking a similar form from one to the next. If each character has been decapitated, and the words represent the stream of consciousness of a dead person (something resembling an almost dreamlike state of narration) who’s involuntarily expending his/her last bit of thought, it’s unavoidable that you might end up with some repetition in terms of style. Robert Olen Butler, though, is a gifted writer who in all of his works displays a sense of humanity for each of his characters (even if they aren’t human); he can make the repetitious fresh, something not easily done.
I think it’s admirable and even to some extent essential that he went experimental and wrote these stories. It’s admirable to try something completely out of sorts when you have an established identity as a literary writer (Mr. Butler is the author of 11 novels and a handful of short story collections, including A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, which won the 1993 Pulitzer Prize). It’s essential in that I think it helps fiction grow when our best writers are taking chances and doing something different and not just rehashing what initially brought them acclaim.
Severance is not Mr. Butler's greatest work, but it is definitely his most experimental and unexpected. If you're fond of flash fiction or like to write it, it's an interesting study on how someone else has approached the form.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Quick explanation of projects
You might notice some of the labels used for posts and wonder, what’s that mean? Those that don’t make obvious sense are probably those describing various story collections I have completed or am currently working on. Here’s a quick breakdown:
212: 212-word stories, each with a food/beverage related title serving mostly as a launching point for the story (sometimes the title is central to the story, other times not). This collection is complete with 78 stories.
Sashimi: Stories varying in length, with all but one story 1,000 words or less. The original concept was for 750-word stories, so 26 of the 40 stories are that length. Each story also has a sea creature in it, either involved as the central premise or just mentioned in passing. This collection is complete with 40 stories.
Tinfoil: Stories varying in length from 100 to 1,000 words. The story titles are all places and cities both real and imaginary. The original, albeit loose concept was to have spherical objects appearing in each story. This manifested itself as baseballs, marbles, a soccer ball, a cricket ball, an involuntary tattoo, an orb from Atlantis. Some story protagonists included Bobby Fischer, Fred Flintstone and the Great Gazoo, David Koresh, and JFK. This collection currently has 16 stories and is ongoing though I stalled on it a few years ago.
I have some other ideas that aren't yet beyond a small number of works.
212: 212-word stories, each with a food/beverage related title serving mostly as a launching point for the story (sometimes the title is central to the story, other times not). This collection is complete with 78 stories.
Sashimi: Stories varying in length, with all but one story 1,000 words or less. The original concept was for 750-word stories, so 26 of the 40 stories are that length. Each story also has a sea creature in it, either involved as the central premise or just mentioned in passing. This collection is complete with 40 stories.
Tinfoil: Stories varying in length from 100 to 1,000 words. The story titles are all places and cities both real and imaginary. The original, albeit loose concept was to have spherical objects appearing in each story. This manifested itself as baseballs, marbles, a soccer ball, a cricket ball, an involuntary tattoo, an orb from Atlantis. Some story protagonists included Bobby Fischer, Fred Flintstone and the Great Gazoo, David Koresh, and JFK. This collection currently has 16 stories and is ongoing though I stalled on it a few years ago.
I have some other ideas that aren't yet beyond a small number of works.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Wigleaf postcard
When the online publication Wigleaf accepts your story for publication (see “Artichoke” link at right for mine), they offer you the opportunity to send a postcard to go along with it. After my story was accepted, I was working on one but for whatever reason I never got around to sending it in before publication. Here is what would’ve been my postcard:
Dear Wigleaf,
I’m writing from my kitchen, drinking water, a silent radio before me. There’s a stranger who arrived here not long ago. He’s sitting across from me at the table, watching my every move. He’s wearing a sharp black suit and crisp shiny shoes. Before he arrived, I was drinking beer and listening to hard rock, my usual day off routine. But he came in and poured the beer down the sink and replaced it with bottled water, turned the music off and insisted we talk. He told me that it’s clean living from here on out, that he was here to enforce it. I said nothing in response, so I decided to write you. In a little while, he said, we’ll go over your shortcomings—jobs, charity, relationships. It sounds like rousing times ahead!
You might ask, why not just bounce him out, call the police? Well, not so simple. It’s like he’s cast some sort of spell. I couldn’t resist letting him in, and now I sit here and am physically unable to force him out, lift the phone. He’s staring at me as I write, which doesn’t help the process, and I fear he’s cooking up something to stop this as well.
I dislike writing you with pleas, but I ask that you help me. I live at XXXXXX and my phone number is XXXXXXX.
Under better circumstances, perhaps I’ll write to discuss food recipes and Hitchcock.
Regards,
Christian Bell
Dear Wigleaf,
I’m writing from my kitchen, drinking water, a silent radio before me. There’s a stranger who arrived here not long ago. He’s sitting across from me at the table, watching my every move. He’s wearing a sharp black suit and crisp shiny shoes. Before he arrived, I was drinking beer and listening to hard rock, my usual day off routine. But he came in and poured the beer down the sink and replaced it with bottled water, turned the music off and insisted we talk. He told me that it’s clean living from here on out, that he was here to enforce it. I said nothing in response, so I decided to write you. In a little while, he said, we’ll go over your shortcomings—jobs, charity, relationships. It sounds like rousing times ahead!
You might ask, why not just bounce him out, call the police? Well, not so simple. It’s like he’s cast some sort of spell. I couldn’t resist letting him in, and now I sit here and am physically unable to force him out, lift the phone. He’s staring at me as I write, which doesn’t help the process, and I fear he’s cooking up something to stop this as well.
I dislike writing you with pleas, but I ask that you help me. I live at XXXXXX and my phone number is XXXXXXX.
Under better circumstances, perhaps I’ll write to discuss food recipes and Hitchcock.
Regards,
Christian Bell
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Successful Writer
I always like quotes about writers and writing. Here’s one from writer Geoffrey Cotterell:
In America, only the successful writer is important. In France, all writers are important. In England, no writer is important. In Australia, you have to explain what a writer is.
I only know about this quote from Bruce Holland Rogers’ excellent essay, “On Being a Minor Writer,” which is available as an Amazon Short download. His book on writing, Word Work: Surviving and Thriving as a Writer, I find to be essential if you’re at least somewhat committed to the writing life and are beyond the beginning stages of exercising creativity (though I think the book is useful to all).
Back to the quote—I find it humorous just because of preconceived notions about each of the countries and what they value. Being an American writer, obviously I find the part about America to be true and a cold bucket of water on my writing aspirations.
But that cold bucket of water only has power if I buy into the premise that only success matters, which I don’t. Of course, major success would be great—how could I argue otherwise? I believe, though, if you’re a writer, you must proceed realizing that success as it’s defined in America likely will never happen.
In America, only the successful writer is important. In France, all writers are important. In England, no writer is important. In Australia, you have to explain what a writer is.
I only know about this quote from Bruce Holland Rogers’ excellent essay, “On Being a Minor Writer,” which is available as an Amazon Short download. His book on writing, Word Work: Surviving and Thriving as a Writer, I find to be essential if you’re at least somewhat committed to the writing life and are beyond the beginning stages of exercising creativity (though I think the book is useful to all).
Back to the quote—I find it humorous just because of preconceived notions about each of the countries and what they value. Being an American writer, obviously I find the part about America to be true and a cold bucket of water on my writing aspirations.
But that cold bucket of water only has power if I buy into the premise that only success matters, which I don’t. Of course, major success would be great—how could I argue otherwise? I believe, though, if you’re a writer, you must proceed realizing that success as it’s defined in America likely will never happen.
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