First off, is excellent, completely at the level of Infinite Jest, and just another testament to the endless brilliance of our late DFW.
The book has been written about endlessly, and I'm not even going to bother linking various reviews or career retrospectives, because they are legion and easily findable.
I will, however, link to Maria Bustillos' excellent article about how DFW endured his own tragically brief life. It affords insights into the inner world of the greatest writer of the last fifty years that were previously unknown, or at least never so well stated.
The Pale King is about mind-numbing boredom. DMV boredom. World of Warcraft boredom. IRS boredom. I.E., doing something effortlessly and entirely mundane from which the new-car smell has long evaporated, but doing it and doing it well because that's what, at the moment, you must do. You do it well because you expect nothing better of yourself. DFW called this true heroism. I don't know that I agree with him. Maybe enough of the young (R)omantic remains that I believe in the association between heroism and transcendence. It is, however, noble.
What DFW does in The Pale King, as in all his work, is be human in a way so few of us allow ourselves to be. Face it, we live in the weirdest era in the history of humanity, where privacy has altogether and permanently disappeared, in which media in all forms is literally ubiquitous, in which more people have more rights and more access to the tools to demand those rights than ever before, and in which giant private interests have more money and more access than ever to restrict those rights. It's a strange fucking world. Wallace, to a credit I think is entirely underappreciated, saw all of this coming in his seminal and just plain brilliant 1993 essay "E Unibus Pluram" (collected in "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again,") in which he argued that the pervasiveness of television -- but by extension all visual media -- did far more than just influence us all as consumers, voters, parents etc., but actually changed the way we experienced reality. Now, look at permeation (let's call it) of visual media in 1993 versus that in 2011. There's just no comparable scale.
The point about Wallace's humanity is that he saw all of that, horrified no doubt, and made the most difficult artistic move: he swam against the tide. For all the critical talk about Infinite Jest's "hyperactive surrealism," the thrust of the book is in favor of sincerity. Hal decays because he can't grasp that; Gately moves on because he can. The Pale King comes at the same problem from a different angle -- for all the metafictional candy canes and psychics, the book is about acceptance, both of the inevitable flaws of others and of circumstances that... to use a corporate phrase, are what they are. Niebuhr's "Serenity Prayer" may seem trite, but what Wallace taught us, and what we all should know is that it's more than likely a path to a good life. I suppose in that sense, the characters in The Pale King are heroic, in the sense that they accept their fate and try not to overcome it, but to make a good life from it.
4.30.2011
Break Up the Grizz
4-2 over 4-time champ San Antonio, and only the second 8-seed to down a 1 in the 7-game first-round era. I think the Warriors beating the Mavs in 2007 was more exciting, but this Grizz team is definitely more impressive, considering that this may well have been the Spurs' last legit chance for another ring. Duncan -- one of the greatest power forwards ever to play the game -- Parker, great scorer but seemingly antiquated in the Rose-Rondo-Paul-Westbrook era, and Ginobili -- another great scorer who's going to be leading this team in the near future -- are poised perhaps for their Alamo next year. Duncan has, at best, one season left in him. George Hill can be a star, but can't get the minutes with Parker ahead of him. Tiago Splitter and Gary Neal are good role players, but that's all. This Spurs group has, at best, one more chance for another ring.
This is one of the cool things about the NBA -- great teams just seem to fall and rise in twos and threes. The Thunder, Blazers, and yes, the Grizz, are the future of the West, while San Antonio, the Lakers, the Mavs, and in the East the C's at least seem destined within the next year or, at the latest, two, for reasons of age, to regress. In the East, the future belongs to Orlando [if it can find another scorer not named Dwight, who's looking more and more like a potential Patrick Ewing -- dominant big without enough help, and dependent enough on spotty outside shooters to invest in past-their-prime guards (see turkoglu, hedo, arenas, gilbert, starks, john)], Miami (genuinely terrifying because LeBron and Wade are really that good, and LeBron can do a 40, 8, and 8 pretty much whenever he wants -- cap space will be their issue for the next several years though), and a young Chicago team that has a head coach who knows what the fuck he's doing despite one regular season's experience, a point guard in Derrick Rose who's not yet the best player in the NBA (that distinction goes to Kevin Durant, imho), but at 22 a 25 and 8 guy who would give up essential body parts to win (This fact also scares me, but as a fan I'd take a player who will do whatever it possibly can take to win over someone scared to be injured.) Paired with a Luol who seems to remember what winning feels like/takes and a 26-year old Joakim Noah, that team is going to be around for at least eight years.
The Celtics, if they can survive Miami (which I think they can), are still the team to beat. Because as much as I want to punch him (as a Bulls fan), Rajon Rondo is the best distributor in the league not named Chris Paul. And Chris Paul doesn't get to pass to Paul Pierce, KG, and Ray Allen -- the latter of whom remains the most frightening late-game shooter in the league, and clutch in the David Ortiz/Landon Donovan category. Pierce's jump shot isn't quite as ugly as Noah's free throw, but it's managed to work for quite some time now. And even at 34-almost-35, KG's athleticism and just... well... no better word for it than insane... intensity can outdo the rest of the field this year.
This post was about the Grizz though, and though I don't think they'll get past OKC, it's worth recognizing what they accomplished. The Spurs have a pedigree -- the Dirk-led (though I admire Dirk and think he could play into his 40s with that mid-range fadeaway) Mavs haven't won rings, much less four of them, have been to the Finals once, and though perennially contenders just can't pull it off. The Spurs on the other hand are 4-0 in the Finals, humiliated an electrifying Suns team three times in four years. What the Zach fucking Randolph-led Grizz did to a 61-win Spurs team is just incredible.
What a playoffs already, and the second round hasn't even started.
Authorial Interjection part the first: No, I didn't mention the Lakers, mostly because I despise Kobe, think Lamar's frivolous, and Pau's soft. Derek Fisher is an assassin, but I really just want to pretend the Lake Show is a poorly-rated reality show.
Also didn't mention how much I admire Steve Nash for sticking it out with the Suns when it was plain and clear that team was going nowhere in the stacked West, and how much I desperately want him to win a championship. He's 37 and still making opposing teams look silly... while passing to Gortat, an I-don't-even-pretend-to-give-a-shit-anymore Vince Carter and Grant Hill, who also deserves at least a shot at a title.
This is one of the cool things about the NBA -- great teams just seem to fall and rise in twos and threes. The Thunder, Blazers, and yes, the Grizz, are the future of the West, while San Antonio, the Lakers, the Mavs, and in the East the C's at least seem destined within the next year or, at the latest, two, for reasons of age, to regress. In the East, the future belongs to Orlando [if it can find another scorer not named Dwight, who's looking more and more like a potential Patrick Ewing -- dominant big without enough help, and dependent enough on spotty outside shooters to invest in past-their-prime guards (see turkoglu, hedo, arenas, gilbert, starks, john)], Miami (genuinely terrifying because LeBron and Wade are really that good, and LeBron can do a 40, 8, and 8 pretty much whenever he wants -- cap space will be their issue for the next several years though), and a young Chicago team that has a head coach who knows what the fuck he's doing despite one regular season's experience, a point guard in Derrick Rose who's not yet the best player in the NBA (that distinction goes to Kevin Durant, imho), but at 22 a 25 and 8 guy who would give up essential body parts to win (This fact also scares me, but as a fan I'd take a player who will do whatever it possibly can take to win over someone scared to be injured.) Paired with a Luol who seems to remember what winning feels like/takes and a 26-year old Joakim Noah, that team is going to be around for at least eight years.
The Celtics, if they can survive Miami (which I think they can), are still the team to beat. Because as much as I want to punch him (as a Bulls fan), Rajon Rondo is the best distributor in the league not named Chris Paul. And Chris Paul doesn't get to pass to Paul Pierce, KG, and Ray Allen -- the latter of whom remains the most frightening late-game shooter in the league, and clutch in the David Ortiz/Landon Donovan category. Pierce's jump shot isn't quite as ugly as Noah's free throw, but it's managed to work for quite some time now. And even at 34-almost-35, KG's athleticism and just... well... no better word for it than insane... intensity can outdo the rest of the field this year.
This post was about the Grizz though, and though I don't think they'll get past OKC, it's worth recognizing what they accomplished. The Spurs have a pedigree -- the Dirk-led (though I admire Dirk and think he could play into his 40s with that mid-range fadeaway) Mavs haven't won rings, much less four of them, have been to the Finals once, and though perennially contenders just can't pull it off. The Spurs on the other hand are 4-0 in the Finals, humiliated an electrifying Suns team three times in four years. What the Zach fucking Randolph-led Grizz did to a 61-win Spurs team is just incredible.
What a playoffs already, and the second round hasn't even started.
Authorial Interjection part the first: No, I didn't mention the Lakers, mostly because I despise Kobe, think Lamar's frivolous, and Pau's soft. Derek Fisher is an assassin, but I really just want to pretend the Lake Show is a poorly-rated reality show.
Also didn't mention how much I admire Steve Nash for sticking it out with the Suns when it was plain and clear that team was going nowhere in the stacked West, and how much I desperately want him to win a championship. He's 37 and still making opposing teams look silly... while passing to Gortat, an I-don't-even-pretend-to-give-a-shit-anymore Vince Carter and Grant Hill, who also deserves at least a shot at a title.
New Stuff
Started working on a new short story today, and really am excited about where it's going. Been sort of languishing in a creative funk of late, and it's just so great to be working on something new that you know, given the patience, will not be destined for the circular file. Now just to work and work on that patience part.
4.29.2011
On the Cultural Relevance of Susan Boyle
Susan Boyle on "Britain's Got Talent" -- subsequent success and co-optation by the music industry tabled for the moment -- is probably the most uplifting media event the world has seen in the last several years. I might be biased, since "Les Mis" was the first musical I ever listened to, saw, and remains seminal for me as a person. And yet -- the fact that this middle-aged woman could walk out there with the confidence she had, to the complete disbelief of Piers, Amanda, and Simon who, very much in reflection of the sort of world in which we live, dismissed her immediately solely on the basis of her appearance -- is irrefutably a poignant rejoinder against the sort of jaded cynicism that I and so many among my generation affect.
Because the fact of the matter is -- and this seems to be so rare among at least the disaffected 20-somethings to whose cohort I too often belong -- that was a moment that couldn't be... cynicized. When she belted out the lyric "I had a dream my life could be/So different from this hell I'm living," that wasn't a jaded, polished singer just rehearsing lines. That was a woman who's lived something similar to Fantine's hell singing her heart. It's heartbreaking to watch and insanely inspiring. More importantly, it's completely genuine. There is zero in the way of shit that is affected during that entire performance.
What Susan Boyle did and has since done is confirm the essential human-ness of we humans. What makes us who we are, at our best, is an ability to be naive. Naturally, this ability, too, has been exploited, parodized et al many many times over the brief course of our history. Irony has sort of become its own religion among my generation, but it shouldn't be. Sincerity, the capability to feel and feel deeply -- these are what make us who we are, and are not to be fucked around with. It's rare that a media blockbuster affords the chance to celebrate that sort of innocence, nowadays at least. The Daily Show, 30 Rock, Colbert, Parks and Rec -- all trade (quite brilliantly) in professional cynicism. Yet, I can't watch this video without getting all verklempt, and for a good reason -- this may sound odd, but Susan Boyle provides an antidote to cynicism, and a desperately needed one.
Interjection first: Susan's version was likely the most inspiring, but Ruthie Henshall kicked the living hell out of that song, to a degree I, as a decidedly non-musician of any sort, can only wonder at: http://bit.ly/Y3RvP
Interjection the second: /clearlywatchinglesmisyoutube videos but holy fuck Lea Salonga is so talented.
Because the fact of the matter is -- and this seems to be so rare among at least the disaffected 20-somethings to whose cohort I too often belong -- that was a moment that couldn't be... cynicized. When she belted out the lyric "I had a dream my life could be/So different from this hell I'm living," that wasn't a jaded, polished singer just rehearsing lines. That was a woman who's lived something similar to Fantine's hell singing her heart. It's heartbreaking to watch and insanely inspiring. More importantly, it's completely genuine. There is zero in the way of shit that is affected during that entire performance.
What Susan Boyle did and has since done is confirm the essential human-ness of we humans. What makes us who we are, at our best, is an ability to be naive. Naturally, this ability, too, has been exploited, parodized et al many many times over the brief course of our history. Irony has sort of become its own religion among my generation, but it shouldn't be. Sincerity, the capability to feel and feel deeply -- these are what make us who we are, and are not to be fucked around with. It's rare that a media blockbuster affords the chance to celebrate that sort of innocence, nowadays at least. The Daily Show, 30 Rock, Colbert, Parks and Rec -- all trade (quite brilliantly) in professional cynicism. Yet, I can't watch this video without getting all verklempt, and for a good reason -- this may sound odd, but Susan Boyle provides an antidote to cynicism, and a desperately needed one.
Interjection first: Susan's version was likely the most inspiring, but Ruthie Henshall kicked the living hell out of that song, to a degree I, as a decidedly non-musician of any sort, can only wonder at: http://bit.ly/Y3RvP
Interjection the second: /clearlywatchinglesmisyoutube videos but holy fuck Lea Salonga is so talented.
4.22.2011
Nine Types of Light
New TV on the Radio album = very good. Return to Cookie Mountain remains the album of theirs that stopped me in my tracks and was the iPod reboot of choice once takeoff was done. In 2006, at least. Nine Types seems a little bit more pop accessible than Dear Science, which was inevitable. The entire album is... down? Every track seems elegiac, which is probably appropriate for this strange era in which we live -- and TV on the Radio has, to their credit, been on top of what America didn't know it felt, though it felt it deeply.
"Will Do" is a genuine pop hit. My inner elitist recoiled a bit when (I think it was) Stan Levy referenced it on SportsCenter the other night, but it's a fantastic song and deserves some popular play. This band is too good to keep locked up in the skinny jeans and ironic or not moustaches crowd. I'm sort of adamant about this -- if you have a moustache and you're under thirty, chances are you're an insecure douche. "Will Do" seems genuine, some sort of plea from a wounded heart capable of actual feeling and actual pain.
That aside, "Return to Cookie Mountain" with its opening refrain of "I was a lover before this war" and "Dear Science" are most likely the best musical perspectives on this extremely weird era from say 2003-2011 in which my generation has come of age. Come of age meaning that we understand pop culture and what it means, we understand politics and the shell game it is, and we understand that money is fungible and is at the end of the day what separates the skins from the shirts. It's a fucking strange era to be youngish in.
All of that aside, and take this for the first record review it is -- Nine Types of Light is good.
"Will Do" is a genuine pop hit. My inner elitist recoiled a bit when (I think it was) Stan Levy referenced it on SportsCenter the other night, but it's a fantastic song and deserves some popular play. This band is too good to keep locked up in the skinny jeans and ironic or not moustaches crowd. I'm sort of adamant about this -- if you have a moustache and you're under thirty, chances are you're an insecure douche. "Will Do" seems genuine, some sort of plea from a wounded heart capable of actual feeling and actual pain.
That aside, "Return to Cookie Mountain" with its opening refrain of "I was a lover before this war" and "Dear Science" are most likely the best musical perspectives on this extremely weird era from say 2003-2011 in which my generation has come of age. Come of age meaning that we understand pop culture and what it means, we understand politics and the shell game it is, and we understand that money is fungible and is at the end of the day what separates the skins from the shirts. It's a fucking strange era to be youngish in.
All of that aside, and take this for the first record review it is -- Nine Types of Light is good.
4.21.2011
Elif Batuman on writing
Awesome essay by Elif Batuman, author of The Possessed (which is an excellent book), about the life of a young writer, how it feels to be caught for the first time in the whirlwind of having published a bestseller, and asking Jonathan Franzen for weed at the National Book Critics Circle awards.
4.18.2011
The Mortenson Debacle
I have to admit, I haven't been following the growing furor over what 60 Minutes and Jon Krakauer allege to be severe factual errors and downright fabrications in Mortenson's super-mega-best-selling... humanitarian memoir (?) Three Cups of Tea that closely, nor have I actually read the book. So I don't really have much to say about the specifics of the case -- although Krakauer's 78-page expose is available as a .pdf at Byliner Magazine (I'm going to try to squeeze it in at some point this evening).
What I do find interesting about the whole thing, though, is 1) how eerily it resembles the James Frey fiasco a few years back with regard to his "memoir" of recovery from drug and alcohol addiction A Million Little Pieces; 2) how the social ritual of fame/fall from grace/mea culpae/rehabilitation/resumption of fame (hell, even Frey is publishing again) is so ingrained into our entertainment culture (and yes, this book counts as an artifact of entertainment culture); and 3) the desperation of the publishing industry to find the next big thing to shoot to the top of the bestseller list -- no matter how implausible the story -- so long as it's a page-turner, and tells a story that is (pick an adjective) heartwarming, uplifting, inspirational, profound, etc. Side thought: do publishers ever vet "too good to be true" stories?
Of those, I think 2) is probably the most interesting, as it's a phenomenon that seems never to die. Every time one of these stories comes along, the entertainment media falls all over itself to shame the individual responsible, knowing full well what course the story will take, and exactly how efficiently they'll be able to make bank off it. It's a pattern of exploitation exploiting exploitation -- in this case, media (amplified more than ever by its "social" variety) exploiting Mortenson's exploitation of his sources, audience, publisher, and donors in order to create this lurid spiral of publicity that will end up serving both the media and -- in the end, provided he plays by the rules -- Mortenson, while sucking the rest of us into a simulacrum of an ethical lesson about artistic integrity. Entertainment propagates entertainment all under the guise of a misplaced moralism. The media gets paid, Mortenson doesn't really suffer anything in the end, and the rest of us get to chatter about each step of the process, from downfall to renewal.
The real "lesson," if there is one, is to take one's art (broadly defined) seriously enough to practice it with integrity in the first place.
Addendum: It's also worth mentioning that Krakauer went on 60 Minutes last night with an already-prepared 78-page article ready to be posted the next day. Even the accusers are complicit in the publicity game. (h/t Kathleen Schmidt @bookgirl96 for pointing this out)
What I do find interesting about the whole thing, though, is 1) how eerily it resembles the James Frey fiasco a few years back with regard to his "memoir" of recovery from drug and alcohol addiction A Million Little Pieces; 2) how the social ritual of fame/fall from grace/mea culpae/rehabilitation/resumption of fame (hell, even Frey is publishing again) is so ingrained into our entertainment culture (and yes, this book counts as an artifact of entertainment culture); and 3) the desperation of the publishing industry to find the next big thing to shoot to the top of the bestseller list -- no matter how implausible the story -- so long as it's a page-turner, and tells a story that is (pick an adjective) heartwarming, uplifting, inspirational, profound, etc. Side thought: do publishers ever vet "too good to be true" stories?
Of those, I think 2) is probably the most interesting, as it's a phenomenon that seems never to die. Every time one of these stories comes along, the entertainment media falls all over itself to shame the individual responsible, knowing full well what course the story will take, and exactly how efficiently they'll be able to make bank off it. It's a pattern of exploitation exploiting exploitation -- in this case, media (amplified more than ever by its "social" variety) exploiting Mortenson's exploitation of his sources, audience, publisher, and donors in order to create this lurid spiral of publicity that will end up serving both the media and -- in the end, provided he plays by the rules -- Mortenson, while sucking the rest of us into a simulacrum of an ethical lesson about artistic integrity. Entertainment propagates entertainment all under the guise of a misplaced moralism. The media gets paid, Mortenson doesn't really suffer anything in the end, and the rest of us get to chatter about each step of the process, from downfall to renewal.
The real "lesson," if there is one, is to take one's art (broadly defined) seriously enough to practice it with integrity in the first place.
Addendum: It's also worth mentioning that Krakauer went on 60 Minutes last night with an already-prepared 78-page article ready to be posted the next day. Even the accusers are complicit in the publicity game. (h/t Kathleen Schmidt @bookgirl96 for pointing this out)
Michael Sheehan on The Pale King
Michael Sheehan [who knows what he's talking about (I never know what to do with multiple links when there aren't enough to match each word... "knows" and "about" seemed the two most authoritative choices) when it comes to DFW] has a really good and thoughtful review of The Pale King up at The Rumpus.
Hopefully, if I can accomplish at least a few of the things I have in store for today, my reward will be cracking it open tonight. It's sitting there with that king of clubs on the cover staring at me.
Hopefully, if I can accomplish at least a few of the things I have in store for today, my reward will be cracking it open tonight. It's sitting there with that king of clubs on the cover staring at me.
Anne Frank Discovers Her Clitoris and Who Knew?
I had heard vaguely that the version of The Diary of Anne Frank that we all read in eighth grade had been censored, but I really didn't know in what way, or what content had been expurgated in the name of upright American values.
Turns out -- and go figure -- the excised sections include a passage in which she contemplates her genitals and discovers her clitoris. This would seem to be a normal process for any fifteen-year old, and although it's entirely unsurprising that moralists terrified of sex would censor that passage, and it helps humanize a young girl who for many has become a sort of reified personification of the struggle between "innocence" and evil.
Turns out -- and go figure -- the excised sections include a passage in which she contemplates her genitals and discovers her clitoris. This would seem to be a normal process for any fifteen-year old, and although it's entirely unsurprising that moralists terrified of sex would censor that passage, and it helps humanize a young girl who for many has become a sort of reified personification of the struggle between "innocence" and evil.
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