gaddis
Franzen called him “Mr. Difficult,” the ultimate pretentious high-artist who followed only his own standards of perfection and didn’t care if readers enjoyed or even understood his work. This is hard to square with Gaddis’ actual writing which is relatively comprehensible and often beautiful.
Two and a half years ago, I bought a copy of Gaddis’ book The Recognitions on a whim after Franzen made me curious about it. I got about a third of the way through it before stopping — not because it was too difficult, but because it was long and I needed a change of pace, and I just never quite got back into it. I’m staying home sick today and I just re-read the first chapter of The Recognitions, which is a sad, mordantly funny (I actually laughed out loud a number of times), beautifully written family drama about a minister’s growing fascination with the pagan roots of Christianity, the ire this draws from his family and community, and his son growing up confused and caught in the crossfire. If this chapter had been published as a stand-alone novella, it would probably be considered a classic, and no one would complain about Gaddis being too difficult.
Instead it is stuck inside of a giant book famous for being unread, for being some sort of hipster cred object or masterpiece of pretentious wankery, for being “the most difficult book [Jonathan Franzen] ever voluntarily read.” Why beat up on this skilled, passionate and relatively obscure author when every year thousands of bemused high school students are assigned baffling streams of consciousness by Joyce and Faulker and told to eat them like vegetables? I don’t know whether I’ll ever finish The Recognitions (it is very long), but shame on you, Franzen.
I haven’t read The Recognitions, but this basically describes my experience reading J R, which is also moving, biting satire, laugh-out-loud funny, and beautifully written. I guess it’s shorter but more committed to the “dialogue only” style, which is what people find challenging? Like all these reviews talk about how there’s “little indication of which character is speaking.” But to me it seemed like giving all the characters strong distinct voices and leaving me to make those voice associations as they’re introduced made for more readable dialogue and left me more attuned to what was going on, as compared with a having the narrator tag every line of conversation. Maybe I had to be a little more active as a reader but it seemed mostly automatic. (I ended up dropping it about halfway through, because it’s long and I wanted a change of pace.)
Anyway Franzen’s a funny guy. Maybe you’ve seen it but this old review has been making the rounds:
Colson Whitehead’s first novel, ”The Intuitionist,” was a lively comic fantasy about a New York City elevator inspector named Lila Mae Watson. The book established Whitehead’s intelligence and originality as a novelist, but I wasn’t too excited by the world of elevator inspection, and I was frankly irritated by the author’s choice of Lila Mae as the protagonist. Although it’s technically impressive and theoretically laudable when a male novelist succeeds in inhabiting a female persona, something about the actual practice makes me uneasy. Is the heroine doing double duty as the novelist’s fantasy sex object? Is the writer trying to colonize fictional territory that rightfully belongs to women? Or does the young literato, lacking the perks of power and feeling generally smallened by the culture, perhaps believe himself to be, at some deep level, not male at all? I confess to being unappetized by all three possibilities; and so, fairly or not, I found myself wishing that Whitehead had written about a man.
But all is forgiven now. Whitehead’s new novel, ”John Henry Days,” not only features a male protagonist, a young freelance journalist named J. Sutter, but cannily engages the interior crisis of manhood in present-day America.
It’s nice to hear good things about JR. I think if anything that’s the one that you can most easily raise the “spurious difficulty” charge against, because writing solely in unattributed dialogue looks very much like a gimmick meant to make things hard on the reader, even if (as you say) it ends up being less troublesome than one might think. (ETA: The Recognitions is mostly narration as opposed to than dialogue, although the dialogue does the “dashes instead of quotes” thing, which some reviewers complained about.)
Yeah, I had seen that Franzen quote. I almost feel like I’m just jumping on a bandwagon by hating on Franzen, because he seems to get a startling amount of hate on the internet. But there really is something very annoying about him.
I guess it’s that he seems like a distillation of the archetype of the “guy who expects you to listen to his opinion just because he showed up”? Like, he clearly considers himself an important literary figure, but why did he take that vocation? What in literature is he passionate about? He’s just sort of … there, with this null, neutral perspective that doesn’t seem to reflect any great interest in what he’s talking about.
E.g. in the Gaddis essay he complains that Gaddis doesn’t do enough to appeal to him, while at the same time saying he doesn’t actually enjoy the genre (“systems fiction”) he places Gaddis in. Well, there’s the problem right there! But then what is he doing talking about it in the first place? If you don’t like this kind of music, dude, why are you at this show? Or that quote about Whitehead is so bizarre – why would a man write a female protagonist? Well, why write about anyone? Isn’t it interesting to step into the perspectives of people different from yourself? Isn’t that one of the great things about fiction? You do like fiction, don’t you, Jonathan? … Hello? Hello?
(via more-whales)

