Who should wear the crown of America’s greatest writer? Reputations wax and wane, and today’s opinion makers would undoubtedly choose from a different set of names than the critics of 50 years ago. For much of the 20th Century Huckleberry Finn was regarded as The Great American Novel and Mark Twain as its greatest writer. Then the forces of political correctness weighed in calling Twain’s portrayal of Jim racist and the reputation of both novel and author plummeted. School libraries questioned its suitability for inclusion. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye ascended for awhile but suffered the same fate for different, more puritanical, reasons.
Archive for Books – Page 28
Memoir appears to be the literary genre of our time – Angela’s Ashes, Liar’s Club, and Wild – it’s the happening form. It seems that everyone, including me, finds the form interesting. We use memoir to help us recall and explain our lives to others and, more aptly, to ourselves. We read memoirs voyeuristically to peek into the lives of interesting people seeking insight and the occasional salacious detail.
Creative writing programs are awash with memoir writing classes. They are the cash cows of “creative non-fiction” programs. Memoir writers think their stories are so interesting that others will want to read them. Writers with one short memoir under their belts become experts in the genre and make a living teaching others “the craft.” I’m not disparaging the form or the teachers though I’ve encountered bad examples of both. I’ve learned a lot about myself by looking back – not always flattering – and from writing workshops. I think the process can be therapeutic and even artful if the craft is polished and the content takes us from the specific to the general. When that happens the reader finds resonance with the narrative.
Last week The Seattle Times published its Fall Arts insert, a quarterly listing of “Critics’ Picks And Calendars To Help You Plan The Season.” – a compilation of book and author readings, classical music, comedy, dance, pop music, theater, and visual arts events coming to town in the next three months. The most surprising thing about it for Surviving Seattle readers is the incredible number of things going on as winter approaches. With the weather closing in there are plenty of ways to “survive” the darkening skies.
Alexander Maksik is a talented young writer – two well-received novels, stories published in Harper’s, Harvard Review, and Tin House as well as regular contributions to Conde’ Nast Traveler and Departure magazines. I’ve known Xander, as family and friends know him, since he was in middle school. His father and mother, both educators, are friends of mine and co-founders of the Sun Valley Writers Conference. The family counted Peter Matthiessen, Ethan Canin, and the poet WS Merwin as personal friends. It’s no accident that Xander grew up wanting to be a writer.
Lately, for some inexplicable reason, I’ve been drawn to the sick and wicked of the 19th Century, and while summer is traditionally the time to grab a potboiler and head for the beach I’ve found myself watching multiple film versions of several enduring 19th Century novels, reading online bios and book reviews.
It started innocently enough last month when the thermometer busted 90F for the third straight day and we decided to take in an air-conditioned late afternoon movie to beat the heat. That movie, Gemma Bovery, took us back to Flaubert’s novel and triggered a surprising amount of curiosity leading to an avalanche of late night videos, online searches, and bookstore visits. One thing led to another, one novel to another, and almost immediately a renewed appreciation for Victorian-era naturalist writers and their modern film translators
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