Fiction

[Wolf DeVoon]

I have read some and written some, so not unnaturally I have opinions about fiction, the most important of which is authorial voice. Not plot, not theme, but a style of expression that is almost entirely unique to each author, good, bad, or indifferent. Ayn Rand had a simple style of expression, writing in English as her second language. Interesting plots and sweeping themes, of course, but Rand never earned literary kudos, nor did it matter to her. She knew how to draw a romantic triangle and make it stick, even in private life.

I'm not convinced that there is a lot of daylight between an author's private life and literary output. We bring ourselves to the blank page. Ken Follett showed us steely death and searing adventure. Others like Robert Lewis Stevenson paint each moment with innocence, serendipity, simpletons capable of honor. Hugo is in a class by himself, but I get equal thrills from Balzac the lunatic, Chandler the grave digger, Rhodes the cowboy moralist. There are some author voices that bore me to pieces (acclaimed bestsellers, works of alleged genius) and some whose notion of story consists of manufacturing odd names in preposterous sci-fi dilemmas. If you read for entertainment, there are graphic novels for that purpose. When I was a teenager, we called them comic books and I read hundreds. It was the heydey of cool art and story: Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, Mr. Natural.

Being old is a curse. I've outlived Fitzgerald (44) and Hemingway (60), without threatening either of their youthful masterworks with achievements of my own. Being old and, worse, unrecognized has deterred new writing. Why bother? I can't touch the hem of Fitzgerald's robe, and there's no one reading to see an honorable attempt, except me. Writing for me is not a sensible literary objective. I don't need to write to see a story. I see stories everywhere in nature and places far away where civilization rations nature to the uberwealthy.

The goal of my work was to depict the future, in which people were still people. I like writing sex scenes without being stupid about sex. Whether I succeeded at it is a separate question and goes to the heart of the matter. What an author chooses to attempt is his most personal contribution, the thing readers recognize most clearly and nod "Yep, that's him alright."

Whether one should attempt anything is an open question. Most writers have little choice, like musicians whose first love can't be killed, day jobs and families notwithstanding. They plink along, unable to get very much better because voice is a permanent impediment. If you think of a recognizable singer like Johnny Cash or David Lee Roth, you see what I mean about permanence. We drag our artistic style around in the shape of a soul because it's individual, personal, inescapable. God help Spielberg and King. Compared to them, I suspect the truth is I'm boring -- a barbershop quartet with typos.

Now here's a guy with style. Doubt that he can write, but selling the right stuff.

Fictional heroes, fictional grievances, dangerous and loud. Yowsuh!
Hasim Nzinga is the new Papa Hemingway.

 

[Brant Gaede]

I don't think you did a good job of Rand literary analysis. Literary takes in the whole ball of wax. She was a world-class author.

Now, as to the style of her writing, each of her novels revealed a different stage or type. I think she peaked qua literary, as you seem to mean it, with The Fountainhead. Atlas Shrugged was her going political and philosophical and social generally. Her writing stepped up in power and down in nuance and complexity of thought, especially concerning psychological issues. The first two novels had mostly to do with the way things were--fanciful does not contradict--and were observational. The last one was things as they ought to be, hence a lot of declaiming. The mixture of art and philosophy degraded the art and upgraded the philosophy. Everything costs something.

The great irony of Atlas is how much of it so forward looking in 1957, suffuses contemporary reality, one Rand tried to prevent.

____________________

I don't understand, "civilization rations nature to the uberwealthy."

--Brant

[Wolf DeVoon]

1 hour ago, Brant Gaede said:

I think she peaked qua literary, as you seem to mean it, with The Fountainhead.

I agree, but Fountainhead was plot-led, theme-led. Fab characters. But style was very plain. The kid being inspired by Monadnock was hooey.

("Rationing nature" happens in Mars Shall Thunder: the rich have trees, grass, fountains, golf courses. Happens on Earth, too.)

[Brant Gaede]

Now I understand your times in fiction.

You were blinded by your standards.

--Brant

[Wolf DeVoon]

11 hours ago, Brant Gaede said:

Now I understand your times in fiction.

You were blinded by your standards.

--Brant

All is forgiven. An older neighbor gave me a book by John Irving, considered Irving's best by NYT and WaPo. I hated the first word, the first paragraph, and the first two pages. Absolute shit. One of the reviewers praised the pants of the final chapter, which made me want to vomit. I take it all back. Ayn Rand is wonderful.

[Wolf DeVoon]

11 hours ago, Brant Gaede said:

Now I understand your times in fiction.

You were blinded by your standards.

--Brant

All is forgiven. An older neighbor gave me a book by John Irving yesterday, considered Irving's best by NYT and WaPo. I hated the first word, the first paragraph, and the first two pages. Incomprehensible, meaningless bullshit. One of the reviewers praised the final chapter, which made me want to vomit. I take it all back. Ayn Rand is wonderful by comparison.

[Samson Corwell]

You look older in your picture.

[Wolf DeVoon]

2 hours ago, Samson Corwell said:

You look older in your picture.

Huh? That was taken in 2009, I think. I look worse now. Assuming that you're talking about me

[Samson Corwell]

21 hours ago, wolfdevoon said:

Huh? That was taken in 2009, I think. I look worse now. Assuming that you're talking about me

Sorry! I meant younger.