Number One: Caleb J. Ross and Pablo D'Stair:
Three dialogues on literature
By Pablo D'Stair
[Part 4]
NOTE: The dialogue is presented over the next four weeks in a style
of "progressive fragments." The exact order of inquiry and response as
presented is not the order of inquiry and response as it happened
between the two dialogue partners.
Therefore, 'Statements' and 'Responses' from one week may not be
directly addressed by both parties until subsequent weeks. It is the
hope of both parties that the spaces between these responses allow
readers the time and opportunity to more fully and experientially engage
with the propositions, for themselves, rather than looking at the
dialogue as a closed circuit.
Caleb JRoss:Writers who say they 'write genre,' I imagine are taking
a pride in the classification, a pride I envy, honestly. Take marketing
away for a second (which is reason enough to classify oneself as a genre
writer) and you're left with a label that can, at best establish
friendships and hyper-focus a dialogue, and at least, grease
introductions at role playing game lock-ins. I never associated myself
with a genre until recently. Until a few months ago, if pressed, I'd
tell people I write fiction. If they pressed for more, I'd go deeper and
say weird stuff. But then I read an article, I can't remember which one,
about noir fiction that seemed to describe everything I've ever written:
morally ambiguous characters, no true resolution, generally there's a
crime element, but not always, and a protagonist that garners little
sympathy, let alone empathy.
The article argued that this was noir. I felt oddly comforted by
having a tag. I felt more a part of something. I could answer questions
better. I could narrow down my next to-read books. I knew which
conferences I should attend, which blogs to read, which authors to poke
and prod. Five years ago, I would have scoffed at being called a writer
of a specific genre of fiction. Now, I embrace it.
Travels
Pablo D'Stair:Interesting. My own travels, so to speak, went almost
exactly opposite. I might not have had any "inside understanding" of
genre determination, but from the beginning of seriously writing, and in
my thoughts for a long time before that, even, I would consider myself a
This or a That writer-in my case, usually a "thriller" writer, though I
used the term very generically.
It was in writing, kind of assuming I was starting from a "thriller"
point of view, that I came to realise the vast differences between what
I was up to and what any other literature I came across that was also
called "thriller" did. Really, it was only well into my "writing career"
(almost two dozen novels/novellas in) that I make a concentrated effort
to "write genre" which by that time, for me, just meant "something
people could read".
I say that only half-jokingly. I found genre, touching on a lot of
what you say above, to be custom made for that-presupposition, talking,
chatting, gabbing-but honestly I find it quite rare and difficult to
talk about anything other than "Genre" in a conversation about genre, if
you follow.
That is, because the impetus behind most genre fiction (that I've
come across) and indeed the very idea of connectivity and community is
built on tropes and more or less moot investigations, riffs of little
personal meaningfulness or attachment to the authors, talk within genre
is just about conventions or superficialities.
It depressed me and depresses me, really, when I think about it.
Genre
CJR: It's interesting to me that you think of genre as a-as I
understand you to think of it-set of limitations, both from the
perspectives of the reader and the writer. Again, I'm distilling your
viewpoint, perhaps erroneously. This interests me because I know you are
a fan of artifice, of artificial restrictions as a way to see what can
be done, so to speak.
Your flash crime contest is one recent example. Isn't genre fiction,
labeling and all that, just an artifice that may be used to "test" a
good writer (or soothe a terrible writer, I suppose)? Stephen Graham
Jones, who I know we both respect, often talks of genre writing as a
challenge; navigating tropes in ways that not only expand the tropes
themselves but are able to comment on the tropes using the 'language of
the Romans,' so to speak.
PD:Coming up, my idea of desiring a kind of community with authors
was, I think, to talk about things really nothing to do with the
particular things each author wrote, those just kind of greasing the
wheels to "what writing is about" or "what idea is about." But genre and
genre community is very self-contained, in my experience, and not so
interested in what lies outside its borders, perhaps (in reflecting on
your remarks here) for the very reason that a lot of genre writers and
readers fixate so much on the idea of defining the genre itself (whether
they ever fully do or not, whether they fully want to or not) and often
I find it becomes, so to speak, a "naming what it is by naming infinite
things it isn't" proposition.
No real question, here, just wonder your thoughts-or barring that,
I'd be interested to just hear in more detail your thoughts on your own
above remarks.
Venture
CJR:Don't think that I'm not willing to venture outside of a genre.
Though it is important to take a moment to remind ourselves just how
vast the world of letters is; even if I did dedicate myself entirely to
a single genre, there's so much to learn, read, and study in any given
genre that a lifetime wouldn't be long enough to know it all.
Perhaps then the way to look at self-imposed restrictions is simply
to take note of a more focused horizon. But a horizon, vast and
ever-reaching, it still is.
Strange, during my undergrad study a handful of years ago I never
thought that I would one day be defending genre fiction. University
birthed me as a reader and writer. I may just be at my angry rebellious
years right now. Give me another ten years and I'll probably come back
to hating those dag-blasted young high-academic fiction hoodlums.
***
Interest
CJR:Me, yes, definitely I care about the publisher. But that's just
my nerdy, authorly interest. I care in the way that Nabokov cared about
butterfly collecting. It's interesting. I get to know a publisher. I
know what kind of work they produce. I become a fan. When I turn to
giant publishers, Penguin and the like, I am more a fan of the
particular author than the publisher.
Interesting that you call out the 'who you know' nature of the
independent press, in the way that large presses can be. I've never
thought about it, but you're right. Even with indie presses, there's an
element of 'who you know' going on. It's true.
But the 'who you know' generally have less of a monetary investment
than big publishers, and in a country where the dollar is consider a
beacon of import, the monetary investment has some appeal. I usually try
to stay away from overarching, generalisations such as capitalism, but
that may be the issue here.
PD:I admit, that is precisely what grates me about the small press
scene, when you speak of "getting to know a publisher." It's nothing to
be done about it, surely, but one of the reasons I'd never had much
interest in being published through a small label is because the
labeling and then the implicit unity of "type" takes on a double-down
sort of dimension.
Of course, it's understandable when a publisher says "read our
guidelines for what we're looking for" or further says "familiarise
yourself with our catalogue to see if you fit in" but this is all about
branding, not a wiff to do with anything but. It's frightful to me that
one would think (and worse if it turns out to be true, which it probably
is) that a press publishing books of a similar "type" does better for
said books, the audience of one book feeds off of the audience of the
other.
This is such an allowing in of "audience reception" as integral to
"the creation of writing" (i.e. one sees the success of pockets of
similar stuff so then takes to heart the "guidelines/catalogue"
inspection and eventually writes "for the guidelines" rather than
writing, full stop, and seeing if the writing fits any guidelines) that
one would have a publisher in mind before the act of writing begins!
As to the monetary aspect, again to be honest I don't think any small
press ever thinks about it, I think it's a different drug altogether for
the indie press. Everyone knows the money thing is a random spin of the
wheel, but the "power" (or at least appearance of power) thing is all
the more alluring and, especially with the vain creatures most writers
are, quite easy to secure.
I am with you to an extent about the unconscious and, for my way of
thinking, unreasoned respect given to this or that writer because they
have achieved a financially successful post of sorts, but I get baffled
at the "underground celebrities," the writers on the small press level
who are looked up to for reasons other than their writing.
A better way to say this maybe is, I understand how it is one can
elevate either a canonical great (Camus, Hemmingway, Jelenik, Duras) or
a contemporary household name (Chabon, Frazen, Saramago) but that
writers who have neither actually put direct contemporaries of the same
exposure level on higher perches is bizarre.
The joy of being in the underground is, to me, an unfettered sense of
everyone in the underground is just as great and just-as-not-great as
anyone else, the label of "writer" not taking on any societally imposed
gravity.
CJR:I don't buy the risks thing, with writers. Or, said better, I
don't care if a writer is taking risks-whether consciously or sub-. To
me, a risk is when a writer does something that could potentially
cripple something they've, until the moment of the risk, spent their
writing lives building. So, for Stephen King to write a bodice ripper
would be risky.
For Pynchon to do a reality TV show would be risky. Neither of these
would impress me. I love that Stephen King writes horror (though, for
the record, I'm not a fan). I love that Pynchon is a recluse. These
traits are important to the general perception of these authors and
their work. A risk would be compromising those things.
I think authors themselves don't generally see themselves as
risk-takers. They write what interests them. However, talking about
being a risk taker adds to the sexiness of being an author that readers
want (in the way that any public persona tends to dramatize their role
for the sake of success).
Those writers who say they are "getting in touch with their dark
side" or "going to places where they are uncomfortable" aren't
describing truth; they are describing fiction. And isn't fiction what
they do best? Or, perhaps, they are simply using grandiose terminology
for the act of mulling over personal philosophies, as a familiar author
once said (me, above).
Focus
PD:Now, it's interesting that you focus, more or less, on "career
risk" or "perception within a career" risk. More so, it is interesting
that you focus on "persona" and "sexiness" and "public perception." Are
these ideas so central to the idea of "writer" to you? You, earlier,
wrote of using your work to investigate or have record of your personal
philosophies, but is this only within an attempt toward having a career
as a writer?
A little bit of an expansion: don't you think that an author's
ambitions, really, could be wholly satisfied, in a grand scale even,
without ever having to enter the commercial marketplace, and more
importantly, without having to enter onto the radar of "readers at
large" and so therefore without ever having to worry about public
persona?
Follow my rhetorical-if one, with no thought of publishing one's
self, or certainly not commercially, wrote and made efforts to expose
their work and thoughts to other artists, commercial and scholarly, of
their age, would not these efforts, if they put them in the esteem of
men and women of letters (or other pursuits) be equally as influential
and lasting as someone who commercially or "within the existing
framework of success" reached a certain plateau?
I mean, in the sense of influencing contemporaries, if I had one
hundred readers and they all seriously considered my work, and these
hundred readers were other authors, filmmakers, thinkers and painters of
some regard, would this not be as "successful" and sure a way to assert
my work as having ten million people read it?
In a short form-other than "getting" and "momentarily" (because, come
on, that's what it usually is) having some influence on this or that
random person, what is it that you Caleb, as a writer, want from your
work?
CJR:I suppose I use the terms author and writer interchangeably when
I shouldn't (and have even spoken out against doing so). Author means
careerist. Writer means...writer. In this revised context, I would speak
of writing as a more personal obligation, meaning my answer above would
speak to the author.
Regarding the whole satisfaction of ambitions, I definitely think a
writer can be satisfied without participating in the traditional
careerist structure. Hell, I wouldn't be writing now if that weren't the
case. Even if I can never quite my day-job, I'll continue to write. That
alone should speak to the importance I place on the act, not just the
product or the lifestyle.
I suppose the flaw with your logic above may lie with pitting one
hundred passionate readers against the readers to be gained by
commercial success. It's tough to argue that commercial success wouldn't
lead to at least passionate readers, and likewise that avoiding
commercial success would gain that many passionate readers. I guess the
question then becomes why settle for only one hundred passionate
readers. If you have ten million people reading, chances are more than
one hundred passionate readers will materialise.
But I get your point (and I consider most books will never get to
one-hundred million readers). Would I rather fight for one hundred
passionate readers or perhaps fight harder, with much lower odds, to
have ten million readers, one hundred of which may become passionate?
Maybe it's not an either-or question. Maybe I continue to write what I
like and hope the big publishers just sniff me out.
Publishers
PD:Rather than do a big long set up, I just want to ask a simple
thing in reference to the above: If there were no "big publishers"
(which at one point there were not and at one point, I feel, there will
not be again) do you think you would have pursued writing?
If all that existed were self-published writers or very small press
scenes, no possibility of monetary success or celebrity-this before you
ever wrote a thing, not a change to things after you'd started
writing-do you think you would have written? And if so, do you think you
would have written the things you've written now?
CJR:Yes to "would you write?" Maybe to the "would you have written
the things you've written now?" The reason for the maybe is that because
Big Publishing exists, I've been introduced to and influenced by writing
styles and themes that I almost definitely would not have been
introduced to if the world was only micro pockets of literary activity,
simply by nature of distribution and promotion.
Of course, I can't say that my writing, in that scenario, wouldn't be
just as good or maybe better, but it definitely wouldn't be what I write
now. And I like what I write now.
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