Lovely read, as always. Curious what books---and novels in particular---you've read lately that embody this description of the literature you most enjoy: "a narrative that recedes into the distance—the writing powers ahead, each propulsive leap forward a logical consequence of the previous sentence, it is percussive, kinetic, melodic, lively, unknowable, and the experience of the words on the page burst with life."
Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu is the first novel that comes to mind. Although there's certainly a structure, I enjoyed the page-by-page experience of unpredictability—every paragraph is both unforeseen and yet a completely logical consequence of the previous paragraph. Georges Simenon, however, is probably the best illustration of this approach in my mind. The novels aren't new, but his method of writing—one chapter per day, few edits, inhabiting the characters like an actor, no advanced planning—results in writing that feels alive. It isn't my method, and I don't think it would work for many people, but his novels do have a propulsion that comes from that trajectory. Thank you for the comment, Andrew.
Thanks for the recommendation. Going to look into both writers. What you described in the piece sounded wonderful, but I couldn't help but wonder what specific writers you had in mind.
At the risk of oversimplification, re: the public school essay format, is it fair to say that you need to learn the rules before you break them? Or is it just a sausage factory? This has given me food for thought, thanks.
Absolutely—I am certainly in favorite of understanding craft, in whatever medium, first. And even if your desire is to break down a structure, you need to know the nuances of that structure to fully reach somewhere new. Thank you for the comment, Mark.
Would you recommend a particular example story to read and dismember to show your point of a more enjoyable arc, or would anything from Michel de Montaigne be appropriate to display the difference from traditional plotline?
Part of my contention is that the story structure that's assumed to be universal isn't that common in art that lasts—which isn't, I should add, an argument against structure. If you pick up nearly any novel from a list of classics, for instance, you'll find a distortion, or a stretching of what's considered so commonplace.
For my more specific point about non-fiction writing that has a trajectory, there are countless good examples, with Montaigne certainly worth reading. Here are a few more just off the top of my head that are more contemporary: Susan Sontag, Joan Didion, Karl Ove Knausgård, Zadie Smith, Annie Ernaux. You might also be intrigued by the method that Georges Simenon used to write his novels—he had a similar impulse toward trajectory, and that produced a similar result.
In fine art some students are educated in classical ateliers, where they are taught sight size and other, precise measuring approaches for their drawings and paintings. They study anatomy and master copies and the black line of their creation, to borrow your analogy, results in very realistic but often wooden results. Like a proper story with beginning, middle, and end, the classical drawing is representational, realistic, and faithful to the subject. It’s predictable. But it can also feel academic and lacking in any…pizzaz. Any wow factor, or unexpected flourish or exaggeration. I love art and stories that don’t follow predictable formulas, no matter how effective and proven. Imagine if Proust avoided his discursive style for a succinct story arc. Exciting art seems to blend quality with novelty.
To "blend quality with novelty" seems to be the trick, along with the intangible aspects that we can't ever define. The sensation of "that's art" appears to shift whenever we reach a definition. Thank you very much for the comment, John.
Lovely read, as always. Curious what books---and novels in particular---you've read lately that embody this description of the literature you most enjoy: "a narrative that recedes into the distance—the writing powers ahead, each propulsive leap forward a logical consequence of the previous sentence, it is percussive, kinetic, melodic, lively, unknowable, and the experience of the words on the page burst with life."
Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu is the first novel that comes to mind. Although there's certainly a structure, I enjoyed the page-by-page experience of unpredictability—every paragraph is both unforeseen and yet a completely logical consequence of the previous paragraph. Georges Simenon, however, is probably the best illustration of this approach in my mind. The novels aren't new, but his method of writing—one chapter per day, few edits, inhabiting the characters like an actor, no advanced planning—results in writing that feels alive. It isn't my method, and I don't think it would work for many people, but his novels do have a propulsion that comes from that trajectory. Thank you for the comment, Andrew.
Thanks for the recommendation. Going to look into both writers. What you described in the piece sounded wonderful, but I couldn't help but wonder what specific writers you had in mind.
At the risk of oversimplification, re: the public school essay format, is it fair to say that you need to learn the rules before you break them? Or is it just a sausage factory? This has given me food for thought, thanks.
Absolutely—I am certainly in favorite of understanding craft, in whatever medium, first. And even if your desire is to break down a structure, you need to know the nuances of that structure to fully reach somewhere new. Thank you for the comment, Mark.
Would you recommend a particular example story to read and dismember to show your point of a more enjoyable arc, or would anything from Michel de Montaigne be appropriate to display the difference from traditional plotline?
Thanks- Paul
Part of my contention is that the story structure that's assumed to be universal isn't that common in art that lasts—which isn't, I should add, an argument against structure. If you pick up nearly any novel from a list of classics, for instance, you'll find a distortion, or a stretching of what's considered so commonplace.
For my more specific point about non-fiction writing that has a trajectory, there are countless good examples, with Montaigne certainly worth reading. Here are a few more just off the top of my head that are more contemporary: Susan Sontag, Joan Didion, Karl Ove Knausgård, Zadie Smith, Annie Ernaux. You might also be intrigued by the method that Georges Simenon used to write his novels—he had a similar impulse toward trajectory, and that produced a similar result.
Thanks for the comment, Paul.
In fine art some students are educated in classical ateliers, where they are taught sight size and other, precise measuring approaches for their drawings and paintings. They study anatomy and master copies and the black line of their creation, to borrow your analogy, results in very realistic but often wooden results. Like a proper story with beginning, middle, and end, the classical drawing is representational, realistic, and faithful to the subject. It’s predictable. But it can also feel academic and lacking in any…pizzaz. Any wow factor, or unexpected flourish or exaggeration. I love art and stories that don’t follow predictable formulas, no matter how effective and proven. Imagine if Proust avoided his discursive style for a succinct story arc. Exciting art seems to blend quality with novelty.
To "blend quality with novelty" seems to be the trick, along with the intangible aspects that we can't ever define. The sensation of "that's art" appears to shift whenever we reach a definition. Thank you very much for the comment, John.
That's a very good thought to add—thank you for the comment.