Tag Archives: philosophy

CCLaP Fridays: On Being Human: An Introduction

My introductory essay to my themed essay series, “On Being Human” has been posted at CCLaP.

An Interview with Marc Schuster

What inspired you to write The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Super Girl?

I was working on a paper in graduate school when I started reading a pair of books called The Steel Drug and Cocaine Changes. As the titles suggest, they were about cocaine, and they included case studies of people who had used and abused cocaine. Some of them were very compelling, but due to the nature of the books, the stories were also very fragmentary. With The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Party Girl I wanted to flesh out some of the details in a fictionalized forum, to try to come up with a more fully imagined version of the scraps I had read and started to piece together.

Tell us about your blog, Small Press Reviews, and the appeal of reviewing the works of small presses.

I started Small Press Reviews in November of 2007 after sitting in on a discussion of small presses at a local writers’ conference. One of the speakers was an author named Curtis Smith. I bought his book The Species Crown and loved it. Between his talk and the book, I was sold on small presses. Part of the appeal is that I feel like small press readers and writers share a strong sense of community. I had lunch with a small press author named Christian TeBordo a few weeks ago, and though we’d never really met before—aside from running into each other once or twice when we both taught at Temple University—we found that we shared a common language, so to speak, as we dropped names of small presses we really admire like Featherproof and Atticus Books, as well as small press books we both enjoyed like The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Somerville. Being part of the small press scene is a little bit like belonging to an exclusive club, but one that’s—ironically, I guess—open to anyone who’s interested in joining. All you need to do is read a few books and join the conversation.

What’s the premise of Don DeLillo, Jean Baudrillard, and the Consumer Conundrum? What is the “Consumer Conundrum” and how is it reflected in the works of DeLillo, an American novelist, and Baudrillard, a French social theorist?

The book basically looks at the problem of consumerism in the western world. Early in his career, Jean Baudrillard wrote a book called The System of Objects in which he argued that humans have surrounded themselves with commodities which no longer serve any real purpose other than to signal status. This observation in itself is nothing new, but Baudrillard’s argument was that by surrounding ourselves with objects, we’ve taken on the status of objects ourselves—that our sense of self-worth is bound up in the constellations of objects we arrange around ourselves as signs of value. This is a bit of an oversimplification of his argument, but the conundrum I talk about in the book is that of figuring out how to overcome the inertia of commodification, how to stop being objects and, instead, become subjects, become human again. Baudrillard offered a lot of commentary on this predicament over the course of his career and eventually decided that it really couldn’t be done. Don DeLillo, on the other hand offers a more hopeful view of our species’ potential to regain its humanity—through art, though language, through doubting the logic of accumulation that surrounds us. It’s been a long time since I wrote that book. I’m a little fuzzy on the details.

Is there a link between capitalism’s need for gain (profits, acquisition, expansion, accumulation) and an addict’s need for increased dosages just “to maintain”?  (“Wonder Mom” seemed to touch on this indirectly, albeit from the perspective of a Drug Morality Tale.  Audrey’s inevitable crash late in the novel and the global economic cataclysm aren’t too dissimilar.  Or am I reading too much into it?)

No, you’re not reading too much into at all! In fact, a part of me always hoped that readers would draw a similar parallel. Look at the publishing industry, for example. John B. Thompson wrote a book a couple of years ago called Merchants of Culture, and in it he talks about the publishing industry’s need to make 10% more money in any given year than they did in the previous year. That’s why you always see a glut of crappy, gimmicky books just before the holiday season. The publishers are gambling that people who don’t generally read might buy these books as gifts, that they’ll be good for a laugh or will look good on a shelf in someone’s house somewhere. Yet another reason, I suppose, to favor small presses over big conglomerates. The same thing, as you note, happens to Audrey as she continues to fall deeper and deeper into her addiction. She’s hollowing out her soul as she strives for that extra 10% that will help her keep her head above water, at least until she needs her next hit. I always had consumerism in mind when I was working on that book.

Between your novels, your blog, and your teaching, what’s your work schedule like?  Do you ever feel like one area is being neglected while you tend to another?

Hah! Yes! All the time! I teach five courses with an average enrollment of about twenty students each. On any given weekend, I’m grading between forty and sixty papers. I love teaching, but that much grading really takes a toll. Needless to say, I don’t get much time for writing during the school year, but I do try to squeeze it in here and there. On one hand, I wish I had more time to write, but I also wouldn’t want to give up teaching. Not just because of the steady paycheck and benefits, but because I really feel like I come alive in front of a classroom—sharing ideas with students, helping them learn to express their ideas and participate in the wider dialogue not just of academia but of culture at large. Even so, I frequently wish I had more time to write. And blogging? I liken it to punk rock. When I’m working on a novel or an essay or a short story, I’m obsessing over craft and getting the content and form of the piece just right, like Brian Wilson taking months to record “Good Vibrations.” But with blogging, it’s more like the Ramones recording their first album in a day. Get it done, and get it out there. Share it with the world, warts and all.

What projects are you working on these days?

My second novel comes out in May. It’s called The Grievers. I should be getting galley copies this week, so I’ll be proofreading and making notes for any minor changes I want to make before it goes to print. Otherwise, I’m mainly gathering scraps in a notebook and hoping they eventually coalesce into something somewhere down the line.

Who are your favorite authors (novelists and/or academics)?

I like anyone who bridges the gap between “ivory tower” academic discourse and a more down to earth yet intelligent public discourse. There’s a lot in the news lately about the hollowing out of the middle class. I think there’s also been a gutting of the ability to have an intelligent conversation in the United States. At one end, there are academics who speak and write in impenetrable and, frankly, boring prose, and at the other end there’s the bombast and vitriol of the shouting heads on TV and radio, not to mention the histrionics of anyone involved in reality TV. It’s tough for regular people like you and me to have a thoughtful, intelligent, public conversation about the arts or culture or even politics anymore, but it is possible. Authors like Jonathan Lethem and Steve Almond do it in their nonfiction, and a lot of bloggers are doing it, too. Anyone who raises the bar on public discourse is okay in my book.

But if you’re looking for names, I love pretty much everything by Kurt Vonnegut. I was also on a George Saunders kick for a while, hot on the heels of a Chuck Palahniuk kick, a Neil Gaiman kick, and my perennial Philip K. Dick kick. Over the summer, I read Chistopher Moore’s Fool and told all of my friends to read it. More recently, I’ve been reading a lot of short stories. Robin Black’s If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This is amazing, and I really enjoyed Steve Almond’s God Bless America. I also liked Don DeLillo’s The Angel Esmerelda. If I’m not teaching or writing, I’m reading.

The Letter Killers Club, by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovksy

In an industry usually concerned with “moving units,” cashing in on the latest literary by-product of a reality television non-personality, or pushing out fiction that degrades the genre to a near metaphysical endpoint, it is a rare occasion when a publisher can be said to have acted “heroically.”  The Letter Killers Club by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky (hereafter referred to as SK) represents an occasion to celebrate.  With a downright intimidating name (unlike the two-syllable names of thriller writers on bestseller lists), the novel revolves around the machinations and stories told by a secret society in the 1920s Soviet Union.  It is heroic to publish such a perplexing little volume by a Ukrainian Soviet writer who, according to the copy on the back cover, “went unpublished, though he was active among Moscow’s literati in the 1920s.”  Seriously, why publish this?  One could make more money releasing another volume of Ghostwriters Working for the Kardashian Machine.  Let’s add zombies to Jane Austen or androids to Tolstoy.  “Hey, at least people are reading!” quoth the sycophants of the Lowest Common Denominator.

Don’t let the author’s name or the strange plot dissuade you from reading this remarkable novel.  Written in 1926 when Soviet Modernism slowly faded into the Stalinist Philistinism of the 1930s, the novel follows the meetings of a secretive group named “the Letter Killers Club.”  Totalitarian paranoia taints the barbed elliptical narratives of the group members, creating stories that bristle with erudition, humor, and beauty.

“The Letter Killers Club” involves each member taking an alias that is a nonsense syllable.  The names (Rar, Mov, Tyd, etc.) sound like the characters from Samuel Beckett’s Endgame (1957).  The group gathers in a dark study.  Empty bookshelves surround them.  Every week a single member tells his story, but is duty bound not to publish his “conception.”  The strictures recall the random oppressions of the police state.  While the 1920s saw an aesthetic flowering in the Soviet Union, its totalitarian terrors existed under the aegis of Lenin and the Party.  Stalin simply intensified and expanded the Reign of Terror.  The rigidity of the rules also predicts the severity of Oulipo (a literary movement that began in the 1960s).

The meetings frame the stories, each meeting offering a different genre.  The first story is actually a play, a heretical dissection of Hamlet.  The play splits the characters into two entities; ergo Guildenstern becomes Guilden and Stern.  Dueling Hamlets recite the “To be or not be” speech.  In addition, the play’s actors go to The Land of Roles meeting previous actors who played Hamlet.  The story is playful and postmodern, anticipating Tom Stoppard’s riff on the Bard’s most famous play.  The fourth-wall-breaking and Land of Roles remind one of the anarchic interrelationships of Los Angeles and Toontown in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (Robert Zemeckis, 1988).

Another story involves the transmission of a virus that turns people in automatons.  Part science fiction, part biological horror, and part political satire, the story explores the same territory of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We (1921).  In this case, a scientist desires to make the mentally insane more productive members of society with a technique of remotely controlling the brain functions.  What started as a technology “for the common good” becomes an instrument of totalitarian control.

The people turning into automatons because of technology should make people pause and think about the ties between self, autonomy, the state, and surveillance.  (Whether it is Facebook or the National Security Agency, sacrificing one’s privacy to a monolithic institution usually involves a willing self-sacrifice.  Our chains are self-inflicted.)

Other stories include a fable set in medieval times and a tale of a recently deceased Roman missing his requisite obol for his journey across the River Acheron.  To complicate matters, the narrators get interrupted, chastised, or, a la “Exquisite Corpse”, other members finish the stories.  The interruptions and snide commentary should be familiar to anyone seeing an Internet comment thread.  If you disliked a casting choice in a movie involving a Marvel superhero or something similar, then you’ll enjoy the snark targeted at the storyteller.  The snark and commentary in this cabal-like setting stands in stark contrast to the public uniformity of the police state.  Even with the strictures and severity, the narratives, albeit unwritten, transcend the terror and stifling monotony outside the dark walls.

SK’s The Letter Killers Club is a monumental literary discovery, a gem buried in the Soviet Archives and only unearthed in 1976.  With its daring experimentalism and acid commentary on state power, the book still stands as a work of revolutionary power.

Forgotten Classics: The Dark Labyrinth (1947) by Lawrence Durrell

 

An infrequent feature on classic books forgotten to the mists of time.

The name Lawrence Durrell is not a name mentioned with any frequency these days, but his work deserves a revival.  The Dark Labyrinth, published in 1947, begins with a simple enough premise: a small group of tourists visits a Cretan labyrinth.  In the ensuing narrative, the group gets lost with certain members getting rescued while others never return.  With this basic plot, Durrell spins a tale chock full of philosophical rumination, surgical precision social satire, and capacious character development.  The foredoomed tour group includes a failed artist, a harsh Christian missionary, a disgraced psychic, and a quaint Cockney couple on holiday.

The genius of the book comes from two sources: Durrell’s precise, nuanced use of language and his unorthodox plotting.  Unlike Brideshead Revisited, the reader isn’t drowning in the super-sweet honey and amber prose, The Dark Labyrinth is light and propulsive.  In terms of plotting, when the reader is expecting Durrell to zig, he zags.  But O Dear Reader, the zags!  A couple terms while reading, I quoted Hunter S. Thompson’s assessment of his drug-addled Samoan friend, “You’ve gone completely sideways on me, man!”  Not something I’d expect from a Dean of the English Highbrow Novel, especially a novel written two years after the Second World War.

The Dark Labyrinth is worth reading (and worth reprinting, perhaps by New York Review Books or the Dalkey Archive).  The novel presents the Artist in Embryo, along with his unique personal philosophy, a combination of Western physics and Eastern metaphysics (Einstein and Buddha).  The novel is also a great entrepôt into Durrell’s vast oeuvre.  This single, self-contained volume will lead to his travel writing and his more epic fictional works (the quartets and quintets).

 

Notes from Irrelevance, by Anselm Berrigan

 

Genealogy

Anselm Berrigan comes from an esteemed family.  The son of poet Ted Berrigan and poet Alice Notley, his brother is the poet and songwriter Edmund Berrigan.  Anselm’s wife Karen Weiser also works as a poet.  Notes from Irrelevance shows that Anselm didn’t get his book deal by trading on his father’s name.  (America, despite its populist and egalitarian posturing, has a yen for dynasties and nepotism.  See: the Presidency, Ford Motor Company, etc.)

Content

Notes from Irrelevance could easily bear the subtitle, “One man’s search for meaning in the second decade of the 21st century.”  Throughout the short volume, Anselm contends with the Big Issues: existence, meaning, faith, family, and literature.  Written as a single book-length stanza, the concept brings to mind the single-paragraph-as-book tirades by Thomas Bernhard or Molly Bloom’s ecstatic run-on sentence that concludes Ulysses.

By turns demotic, snarky, and self-referential, Notes from Irrelevance both charms and challenges the reader.

“             The computer,
not the quesadilla,
told me about a moment,
wherein my father,
talking to an old friend,
waxed nostalgic for a
moment they cohabited,
an extended moment,
and a fellow who heard
the rap from above got
mad and thirty-two years
later related his anger
in a comment box as way
of saying he couldn’t
deal with the sadness
he perceived in Ted’s
poetry.”

In the end, after the attempts to stave off his own irrelevance, Anselm dissects his own writing with cynical precision and acidic wit:

“Cosmic intercon-
nection of all beings?  Check.
futility of pain management as source
of humor in outlook?  Check.  Controllable
vices for purposes
of secondary level
of interior life, an echo
of conscience trailing
out?  Check.”

The question and answer format calls to attention that poetry is a language-making process.  The book demands the reader to contend with the language.  Long run-on sentences, sometimes tied into knots of clauses and sub-clauses, suddenly vanish in a spat of.  Small.  One or two word.  Sentence fragments.  Beautifully polished phrases collide with unexpected bursts of vulgarity.  An occasional pop culture reference pops up (Internet comment boards, the movie Apollo 13, etc.) making the reader realize the poet lives in the real world and is a real person.  The real-life aspect of the poet is a challenge for the reader, since the poet is the son of a famous poet.  Leaving the shadow of one’s father (especially a famous one) forces one to contend with the harsh sunlight of reality.  The Shadow of Fame drove Hamlet crazy and has been the reason countless kids of celebrities went from crèche to rehab.

Reading the book took little over an hour, but re-evaluating the images and the language will require me to revisit the text many more times.

Production

Wave Books is a small press specializing in poetry and operates from Seattle, Washington.  The book itself possesses a sturdy yet delicate feel.  A slim 64 pages give Notes from Irrelevance a chapbook appearance, an aura of the homemade.  On many pages, there are small imperfections, tiny flaws in the paper itself.  The text is printed on sturdy paper, just shy of good cardstock, while the front cover is devoid of any decoration except the poet’s name, each letter sliced and the title itself hunkered down on the lower right, almost an afterthought.

Wave Books puts out a great product, superior materials with stunning content.  Granted that sounds a bit dry and anemic, with all the personality of a State Department press release, but Notes from Irrelevance effects one on an intellectual and emotional level while the book itself feels good in the hands.  (Best accompanied in the morning with a cup of coffee.)

Fasting for Ramadan: Notes from a Spiritual Practice, by Kazim Ali

Food is one of the essential requirements for existence.  One cannot go about one’s daily business without caloric intake.  However, beyond the needs food fulfils, one takes pleasure in eating.  That is why people read restaurant reviews or watch No Reservations.  Food also represents a mirror of a specific place, culture, and personality.  Why a book entitled Fasting for Ramadan has recipes in the back also requires explanation.

Fasting for Ramadan: Notes from a Spiritual Practice by Kazim Ali is a stunning literary jewel.  An extended meditation on the Muslim practice of fasting during the month of Ramadan has appeal for the practicing faithful, those curious about the Muslim religion, and to those with or without faith.  Faith is not a requirement for the enjoyment of this book.  In fact, one of Kazim Ali’s frequent refrains is, “I’m not sure what I believe.”  This is less an example of alleged agnostic fence sitting (a caricature lobbed by zealous theists and atheists alike), but a cri de coeur against the tyranny of dogmatism and certainty.  But before we place Ali within the spectrum of Muslim theology, it is important to elucidate what Ramadan is and isn’t.

Ramadan is one of the Five Pillars of Islam.  These pillars (Arkan) are as follows:

1. Shahada (The profession of faith): There is only one God and Muhammad is his messenger.

2. Salat (prayer): Traditionally, the five prayers recited at specific times during the day.

3. Sawm (fasting): The obligatory time of fasting during the month of Ramadan.

4. Zakat (alms-giving): The act of giving to those in need by those who are financially capable.

5. Hajj (Pilgrimage): A Muslim must visit Mecca and perform a specific battery of rituals.

Ramadan is not a hunger strike or torturous asceticism.  Ramadan involves the withholding of food from dawn until sunset.  Since the Muslim calendar is lunar (like the Jewish calendar), Ramadan is measured in terms of the moon’s waxing and waning.  In his journal, Ali tells how his first Ramadan fast with his mother was during the month of July.  July’s long days made for an arduous experience.  But the fasting isn’t without celebration, since Ali discusses his fast-breaking meals with fellow students.  Even with the fasting, there is still food and joy.

Kazim Ali is unique in relation to other devout Muslims in that he practices the Ramadan fast, but not the daily prayers.  In the book, he also explains how he practices yoga and is a vegetarian.  (While Muslims are forbidden from eating pork, they can eat other meats.)  For Ali, the vegetarianism and yoga make sense, since he was born in India, a nation with a massive Muslim population.  Ali is also a self-described Shi’a Muslim, the minority sect that has sizable populations in Iraq and Iran.  Ali works as a creative writing teacher at Oberlin University.  Ali is also gay.

Fasting for Ramadan is comprised of two main sections.  The first “New Moon in the Western Sky: Ramadan Essays” are free-associative essays first written for an Oberlin University blog.  Ali discusses his thoughts on Ramadan, dinner gatherings, and matters literary and personal.  The former blog entries give the essays a semi-public feel, not necessarily confessional, but definitely for public consumption.  (The essays pique this reviewer’s interest in seeing what the comments board revealed, since blog posts can act as one half of a public dialogue.)  The second section is called “Absence of Stars: A Fasting Notebook.”  Written years earlier, this is Ali’s personal journal during the Ramadan month.  The tone is more confessional, the feelings more naked, and the impressions more immediate.  In both sections, Ali’s calling as a poet are revealed.

Islam, like Christianity and Judaism, is a religion of the word.  Ramadan celebrates the Prophet Muhammad’s injunction from God (Allah, al-Ilah, literally “The God”) to write the Quran.  Ali writes:

It’s a sacred month, regardless of fasting, because it is said to be the month in which the revelation of the Quran began.

When Gabriel came to the prophet in cave and said, “Read.  Read in the name of the One who created you, made you from a clot of blood.”

And what night of the month was that?  Complicated question.

Supposedly: An odd-numbered night in the third week of the month.  Cryptic.

(NB: Spacing and paragraph spacing in original text.)

Ali’s writing wavers from the ruminative to the epigrammatic, the text a dancer making split-second turns and unexpected reversals.  The hunger for food becomes the engine of his writing, propelling him forward and inward.  The inwardness yields to questions about his faith, his world, and his writing.  The inwardness remains even as the prolonged nature of the fast allows his gnawing hunger to fade away like so much fog on his morning runs.

Amidst the meditations, epigrams fly out and beckon second looks: “Fasting is first to abstain and then to embrace emptiness.  Then to give emptiness back.”  (How can one not think of Beckett?)  “But since I am not sure what the nature of god is (or God if you prefer, or G-D, or whatever) I don’t know how to speak.”  (Shades of the Daoist; serenity in uncertainty.)  “Eden is over, if ever Eden was real.”

The reviewer hopes to gain further pleasure from the text with the recipes in the back.  The emptiness of Kazim Ali’s experience gives back again, this time with the sensations of the tongue and the nose, the eye having been sated on the words.  This is literature to be savored by a writer that bucks the usual stereotype our culture has given the faithful Muslim.  On a rudimentary level, Fasting for Ramadan gives the reader an understanding of the physical and spiritual efforts involved in this month-long practice.  On another level, the book gives a double portrait (one public, another private) of an individual’s attempt to understand himself and his world.

Interview with author Chad Faries

Chad Faries is the author of The Book of Knowledge and his forthcoming memoir Drive Me Out of My Mind.  Chad’s Midwestern upbringing and international experiences give his poetry a unique perspective.  His brand of poetry possesses a singular combination of the humbly playful and historically engaged.  In the words of publisher Lisa Flowers, founder of Vulgar Marsala Press, “his work [is like ] a trip through Disney through the eyes of Woody Guthrie through the eyes of Ezra Pound, like an ever-overlapping pair of bifocals.”  Chad answered my questions I emailed to him.

What are some of your current projects?

It has been an eventful summer, but that likely is the wrong adjective.  My grandmother, the matriarch of my new memoir, Drive Me Out of My Mind, died a couple of days after the release in late June.  Then I had to drive across the country to Arizona to spend some time with my biological father who didn’t know I existed until about 15 years ago.  In those 15 years, we have spent about 5 days together.  Now, he is dying and I am with him, learning about him, and talking a lot about movies and women and it is wonderful.  He gave me a treasure of journals from his 70s exploits last night and I plan on doing something with them. I have also been working on a series of what I call Death Poems.  They are different than the tradition of death poems where one writes a poem on his/her death bed.  The Koreans had a strong tradition of this. I guess my poems are more direct ruminations on death.  The cliché is that indiscriminate readers say poems are always about death, so, there you go….Death Poems.  And of course some are completely antithetical and celebrate a life force.

What drew you to The Children’s Encyclopedia by Arthur Mee for The Book of Knowledge?

I had just finished my collection, The Border Will Be Soon, and those poems were written in a very heavy, war trodden, first person narrative.  The subject matter was based on my travels to the former Yugoslavia between 1995 and 2000.  It was so difficult to read those poems in public because of their immediacy.  Sometime in 2000, my father gave me an old copy of one of the original 1911 volumes.  When I read the titles of the entries—“The Wonderful Things That Happen When You Hurt Your Finger” and “Why It is Bad to Sleep With Flowers in Your Room”—poems started taking shape.  The diction in the book was freeing because the first person in those poems was really distanced from a first person that was closer to the actual voice of the author.  Plus, it was just so damn cool to look at and cradle in my hands.  It smelled wonderful.

How does the poetry in The Book of Knowledge relate to your memoir Drive Me Out of My Mind?

Autobiography and the play of innocence and experience are an integral part of both.  In both the poetry and the memoir, there is no “moral” to the stories because judgment is withheld.  There may be some moralizing, but that is likely done on a more emotional level—the emotions being created through tone and image, not necessarily through expository prose.

One section of The Book of Knowledge focuses on the history of the Iron Range in Michigan.  How does the practice of history relate to the creation of your poetry?

The way I see it, there is recorded history, and then there is this blossoming history that surrounds our every moment.  I like to posit autobiographical history into the context of a known and documented history.  For example, in the poem you refer to, some of the recorded history of the first settlers in Iron County Michigan are contrasted with the exploits of friends and family members from the region so that the histories blend into a single, inclusive narrative.  Also, the geological descriptions of the land of the land are metaphorically transferred to the actions of the characters.

How did your vision influence the overall design for the book?

I wanted the cover and every page to tell a visual story that also contextualized the somewhat awkward diction that peppers the book.  I wanted the design to be beautiful, yet disorienting.  Hopefully the reader might ask “Where am I? What are ducks doing at the bottom of this poem? Why don’t people design books like this anymore?”

In these days of political and economic upheaval, what can poetry offer the individual?

A deeper contemplation and an entirely new dimension that might make fear and mortality seem utterly absurd.

Who are some of your favorite authors and why?

I like Ezra Pound because of the way he collapses the personal and historical.  The Cantos does this over and over.  Pound drags us through the literary and cultural histories of the world, and then describes his cage, or tells us about the smell of a tent.  Marianne Moore is capable of this too.  She can encapsulate humanity into the scientific description of a spider.  Paul Celan has also been a favorite because he has his own emotional lexicon of lightness and darkness.  “He speaks truly who speaks in the shade.”  And then there are the two pillars of America poetry, Whitman and Dickinson.  One speaking in long, uncertain breaths, and the other in short, terse jabs.  That is what makes American poetry so dynamic.

Can a favorite author’s influence be detrimental or beneficial to the creative process?

It would only be detrimental if a writer didn’t make allowances for surprises.  The History of Iron County Michigan I mentioned above is an homage to Pound, but I am sure there are occasions in the poem where Pound would have taken out his pen, as he often did, and slashed entire lines.  This wasn’t his poem.  This was my poem.  If you lose your poem in your nod to a favorite author, the poem has failed.  And if the favorite author were to read that poem, he/she would tell you so.

Do you have any helpful tips or words of encouragement for aspiring writers out there?

Go find a flock of resting birds and run at them as fast as you can.  When they lift, keep running, but raise your head and track their assent until you lose sight of the horizon and all you see is bird and sky.  At that moment you will be flying too. Harness that sensation and translate it into a new language.

My Business Is to Create: Blake’s Infinite Writing by Eric G. Wilson

Within the confines of 85 pages, Eric Wilson’s My Business Is to Create: Blake’s Infinite Writing offers a cornucopia for the aspirant writer.  The tiny book defies conventional categories, much like its subject, William Blake (1757 – 1827).  A Blake biography, a creative writing manual, and a map of influences, epigrams, and philosophy all come into play.

William Blake was a poet and artist living in the Britain, who, like his contemporary the Marquis de Sade (1740 – 1814), lived between the Age of Enlightenment and the Romantic Era.  Blake grew up as a Christian Nonconformist and struggled with making a living.  In the introductory chapter, we see how Blake’s innovative printing method took a fatal toll.  Despite his relatively short life, Blake produced a body of work, visual and textual, that has evaded critics and scholars for centuries.  His work is simultaneously religious, visionary, sexual, satirical, and politically radical.  His self-created mythology is labyrinthine and sensational, with references to everything from political events of the day to Biblical figures and a stylized visual style reminiscent of Michelangelo.

How does this figure into the process of creative writing?  One of Wilson’s assertions is that all writing is revision, not simply rewriting the first draft.  Put simply: “Writing is rewriting, and vision revision.”  Wilson, like Blake, has a gift for the epigrammatic.  Using the crude tools of language, the writer must endlessly toil in an attempt to create the sublime.  While Wilson avoids telling the writer how to create visionary works, he re-emphasizes the need for the writer to go beyond measured and observable phenomena.  He borrows Blake’s term, calling it “the ratio.”  Blake’s mythology had Urizen, the scientific dictator who set up barriers and limits.  Nevertheless, Wilson (and for that matter, Blake) are not idealist reactionaries, since they understand the need for figures like Urizen.  Visionary writing needs to be corralled and sculpted, or else it is a loose and sloppy structure.

Wilson’s book is a fresh burst of creative energy within the overcrowded field of creative writing books.  He also penned a volume that stands out from the usual dross occupying the field, since some books read like dispatches from The Sausage Factory or self-help books masquerading as creative writing books.  In the end, the demands of a publisher or agent shouldn’t matter.  The writer should write what he or she wants to write, giving free rein to their visionary impulses.  Only when writers become too self-obsessed over how many pages a chapter should have or what agents or publishers really like these days (if your name isn’t Snooki, don’t concern yourself), do writers end up producing tedious prose that sounds beige and forgettable.  As Blake said in the Marriage of Heaven and Hell, “Damn braces, bless relaxes.”

Brothers in Arms: The Story of Al-Qa’ida and the Arab Jihadists by Camille Tawil

“I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his country.”

Patton (1970), screenplay by Francis Ford Coppola.

“Mubarak has been an ally of ours in a number of things … I would not refer to him as a dictator.”

Vice President Joe Biden (2011)

“God is the immemorial refuge of the incompetent, the helpless, the miserable. They find not only sanctuary in His arms, but also a kind of superiority, soothing to their macerated egos: He will set them above their betters.”

H. L. Mencken (1956)

Brothers in Arms: the Story of Al-Qa’ida and the Arab Jihadists by Camille Tawil is a lucid investigation of the various threads within the modern Islamist movement.  While the media, especially television, is prone to turn Middle Eastern anti-government dissent into a monolith labeled “terrorist,” Tawil, an investigative journalist working for the al-Hayat Arabic daily in London, dissects the various theological and political rifts within the Islamist movement.

Borne within the crucible of the Afghan-Soviet War and unified by religious rhetoric and corrupt tyrants supported by the United States, the Islamist movement attracted both the devout and the sadistic.  In the words of the poet Ezra Pound,

These fought, in any case,
and some believing, pro domo, in any case ..

Some quick to arm,
some for adventure,
some from fear of weakness,
some from fear of censure,
some for love of slaughter, in imagination,
learning later …

some in fear, learning love of slaughter.

From Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (1920)

Within the context of the Arab struggle against tyranny, the Islamist movement presents itself as a constellation of paramilitary groups working within the parameters of nationalistic goals.  Besides the corrupt monarchs and dictators, the Islamists also stand in opposition to the Muslim Brotherhood’s tendency towards non-violent protest and Kemal Atatürk’s secularization of Turkey following the First World War.  One is left with the dismal choice between tyranny or theocracy.  To use a phrase familiar with benighted, defeatist, unimaginative voters: “the lesser of two evils.”  A false dichotomy ingrained into the consciousness, a Manichean rube that kills critical thought.  (One should note the single unambiguous difference between the agents of Islamist terror and members of the Christian Right: the Islamists have beards.)

Throughout the book, an underlying tension occurs between two countervailing trends.  Nationalist uprising (overthrowing the tyrannical status quo, etc.) and internationalist jihad (creating a global caliphate along 7th century lines, etc.) either compete for dominance or collude with each other.  Erstwhile secular dictators like Saddam Hussein have flirted with jihadist rhetoric to retain hold on power.  Nationalist movements have also had their secular agendas, ranging from the aforementioned Atatürk and certain factions of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (Cf. the more theocratic HAMAS, Iran’s unelected theocratic Guardian Council, and the unelected Christian Right’s relationship with the GOP).  Not every Islamist movement thought joining Osama bin Laden’s World Islamic Front was in their best interests.  Similarly, not every Islamist movement thought the turn towards attacking the United States was a good idea either, despite the United States supporting dictatorial regimes and absolute monarchies for decades.

Preserving freedom at home by supporting tyranny abroad.

This brings up two important questions: What does national liberation matter when the end goal is a global caliphate?  Granted, Islamist groups wanted to overthrow the present dictatorial regimes and install more Sharia-friendly Islamic states, but putting things in “global” terms opens the field to all sorts of utopian lunacy.  Second, given the Islamist desire to create austere theocratic regimes with the Quran as the only law, the complaints against secular dictatorships become moot.  It becomes an aesthetic debate, since tyranny and repression will be fruit of both systems.

Tawil explains how a desire to create democratic systems becomes a major sticking point between Islamist groups.  Some desire to batter the government into holding elections; others see democracy as another manifestation of the infidel.  For all the black-and-white saber rattling associated with the War on Terror, Tawil shows the difficult choices facing Islamist groups and how different goals led to groups getting torn apart.

Brothers in Arms: the Story of Al-Qa’ida and the Arab Jihadists offers an illuminating exploration of the variegated Islamist movement.  Written in 2007, the book lacks information on the more recent London and Bali bombings. The greatest irony facing the Islamist movement is its oncoming irrelevance due to the Arab Spring passing across the Middle East like the European Revolutions of 1848 and the dissolution of the Iron Curtain from 1988 to 1993.  The social networked young secular activists, despite the best efforts of the United States to sit on the fence, will do what arms and terror cannot and shove extremist terror into the dustbin of history.

Expiration Date by Sherril Jaffe

Following what is presumably a supernatural vision, Flora believes she will die.  What follows is Sherril Jaffe’s novel entitled Expiration Date.  Flora finds herself in the Heavenly Court where a verdict is passed.  She will die in twenty-five years.  At the time the announcement is made, Flora is pregnant.  The novel follows Flora’s impending date with doom, alternating chapters with her life and that of her mother, Muriel.

Muriel stands in opposition to her daughter’s predetermined death by avoiding a life in a nursing home outside San Francisco.  She takes up with a taciturn gentleman named Wilbur, a former pilot who flew missions in Vietnam.  Together, they travel from state to state on the bridge circuit.  Flora frets about death and listens to the stories her husband, Jonah, a rabbi, tells her.

While the premise is fascinating, the execution remained disappointing.  The prose felt inert and the characters remained thin and narratively undernourished.  When Flora thinks about death, we find her with her husband as he attends to the pastoral needs of the sick and dying.  In the novel, it reeked of authorial obviousness.  It lacked subtlety and came across as a character doing too much navel-gazing.  Another irking development involved Muriel’s affair with Wilbur.  Muriel obsesses about having Wilbur discover her true age, since Wilbur is almost a decade and a half younger than she is.  Unfortunately, Wilbur remains nearly silent throughout the time of their relationship.  Snippets of background appear in places, but he remains a cipher, less a character than a human lawn jockey.

In the end, the novel just ends.  The narrative ramps up anticipation to Flora’s date with death.  What happens afterwards is anticlimactic, the slow deflating of the story into a tedious insignificance.  Jaffe commits the egregious sin novelists should abhor: she made the novel boring.