"My Apology" by Sam Lipsyte

"The events themselves—the words, the acts, the intent—are a blur, a frantic smear. A certain phrase, once quite common and, by my lights, benign, was uttered, I admit, by me. Its lesser-known and brutal associations, to which I was not privy at the time, choked the office like a poison gas.

"Currents of history pushed this gas, herded it, prevented it from dissipating or exiting through vents. My history seeped into that of the offended party, which collided with the history we’d all been taught in school, as well as the revision of that history we knowing people knew, as well as the revision of that revised history, which had recently gusted in with the force of a reckoning.

"Also, it should be noted with appropriate candor that after I uttered the aforementioned phrase and suffered an onslaught of verbal abuse from my co-workers—no doubt unmooring me from my usual sense of decorum—I did, in fact, in plain view of all, urinate on my offended colleague’s desk."

~~ from "My Apology" by Sam Lipsyte

April 27 (Dow Mossman and Fred Exley)

This spring, for contemporary literature (after 1945), I'm finishing the semester with the documentary film The Stone Reader which connects so well to so many of the challenges faced by novelists in the current marketplace. It also provides an enthusiastic "talkie" look into some of the great literature from the 20th century that proves impossible to assign in bulk for general-education courses. It's also a look at the very real life of Dow Mossman, and how a big fat book from his young adult years almost killed him in order to get written, and then how he survived and endured the rest. To the best of my knowledge, he is still enduring.

The contrast between the happy elderly thesis advisor from Iowa and the nearly broken writer-student is not one to be taken lightly, and certainly connects to all the online chatter about the value of MFA degrees (a degree I don't have, but one the protagonist of Fight for Your Long Day does possess as his highest and doesn't think much of although it should be stated that Cyrus doesn't think much of most anything he has, so at least in that way he's consistent). I only wish we lived in a world where the tenured professors in such programs would do more to show they understand the extent to which they are complicit in "something of a Ponzi Scheme" that is the AWP hierarchy that leaves some writers reaping huge rewards and lifetime security while the Dow Mossmans of the world are lucky to find a night gig delivering newspapers.

But on the other hand, over half of all college degrees aren't leading to much of anything, at least not by age 25 for recent grads, so perhaps we shouldn't isolate the MFA profs as so much more complicit in this economic problem faced by an entire generation (a sort of "damned if you go to college, damned if you don't," but it seems like the solution has to be to make college more affordable, not to discourage students from attending).

I, of course, would love to be a tenured professor of creative writing, but I also enjoy knowing that my general education courses are being taught to at least some students who will get a decent job (engineering, nursing, etc.). There's a Sam Lipsyte interview somewhere in cyberspace, where he pretty much concedes that the MFA isn't necessarily going to make any grads any money, and possibly it will lead to another chunk of student debt, but it is a degree that can help improve one's writing.

For this reason, and just for the general pressure a thesis deadline would provide as well as a chance to teach fewer courses for two or three years, I still consider applying to writing programs. A low residency (maintaining a full time job while working toward the MFA) might be my best option, and the ads for MFAs in AWP's The Writer's Chronicle are almost pornographic in their depictions of laptops by the water and award-winning everybody on the faculty. Last night, I positively salivated over the possibility of a low-residency program solving my problems, and I even saw one with a rocky coast, star faculty (I'd never heard of), and "scholarships" (a rarity for low res as best I can ascertain).

Of course like many others who loathe application fees and paperwork, I'd prefer to just publish a second award-winning novel (no doubt, a winner of a bigger, badder award, one that comes with a huge gold necklace, a hip hop album contract, an entourage, and 50,000 blocks of friends and followers for all the newest new media), and become a Ron Rash or Pam Duncan, a tenured professor with nationally published novels whose highest degree is the MA. To my mind, the MA is a fine degree, and for creative writing, can often expose students to more literary analysis than some MFAs do.

But also, filmmaker Mark Moskowitz includes Frederick Exley's A Fan's Notes as one of his top ten novels of the American 20th century, and it reminded me of my three interviews, all with debut novelists, on Frederick Exley and his best novel. Eleanor Henderson, John Warner, and Joseph Zeppetello were the authors who were kind enough to respond to my questions, and if I can ever find the time or ability to concentrate I hope to interview more writers about Exley.

And by the way, the first writer with whom I remember having that conversation about Exley would be Michael Leone, and he has placed some nice work recently, including this essay called "The Day I Realized My Mentor Was Crazy."

Okay, I hope you survived all this Exley, uncertainty, and meandering on Mossman.

I can't wait to quit this month of blogging, finish the semester, and get into some sustained novel writing and revising.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

kalder, lipsyte, pocket wockets, and misprints

I finished Daniel Kalder's Strange Telescopes and heartily recommend; I intend to write an assessment of that and Lost Cosmonaut at some point. But for now, I jumped right back into Sam Lipsyte, so to speak, and am now fifty pages into The Subject Steve, his first published novel. I doubt Cyrus Duffleman would have time to indulge in Kalder's longer books, but he might enjoy his recent cynicism on the joys of social-media marketing for writers. And I doubt Sam Lipsyte would mind reading it at all (but this doesn't imply I found Lipsyte's e-mail on the Columbia U. MFA website and spammed him with Kalder's essay, my own malaise, or any other set of steak knives.)

Meanwhile, over Thanksgiving break, I picked up three Dr. Seuss books for the price of two at a Walden Books in Charleston, and although I mistakenly grabbed a misprinted copy of There's a Wocket in My Pocket, we are still enjoying it a great deal at home. The Foot Book is also of interesting although not as amazingly compelling as the Wocket book. 

Well, say hello to the Zamp in your Lamp; I intend to get the Zower in the Shower on an exercise regimen soon.

The Dungeon Master

Sam Lipsyte's "The Dungeon Master" is a pretty good one; like Steve Almond's "Donkey. . .," a mishmash of fathers and psychotherapy, but this one offers more paladins and less poker.

the writer's finances in America

Here's a feel-good piece from the recent past on the state of literature (and the writer) in the U.S. Or, I suppose, it could be called a money column by Keith Gessen.

buried in The Ask

. . . and it does not disappoint. Sam Lipsyte is an unstoppable force of literature in a dim, darkening world.

Never surrender!

lish edited hannah?

Am I the only one waiting for the bomb to drop? Or pathetic enough to consider the posthumous possibility that someone will unearth "The Truth" that Gordon Lish heavily edited and rewrote entire paragraphs of Barry Hannah's fiction???

Could it be possible? Ridiculous, right?

Before you threaten this blog with its own mad does of Lishterine, consider the possible:

Barry Hannah was a lonely, mopey plotless writer narrating tales of dysfuctional lesbians who never left the living room with TVs always tuned to the saddest reruns. And then, bam! Lish discovers him and turns his stories into booze-soaked, Southern tragicomedy! Gerry Roth becomes Geronimo Rex!

Gordon Lish, who seemingly has done a hell of a lot for contemporary literature, has wound up playing the role of the sulky devil in regard to the Raymond Carver collection. Somehow, Lish has become the "baddie" who corrupted the true Carver or imprisoned him to unfair but non-negotiable edits or "Jew behind the curtained" him or something.

And now Poor Barry Hannah has been dead and gone for a month, but his editor Gordon Lish is still lurking, most likely "discovering" new writers and eating red meat on rye. Somehow, Lish has gotten a bad rap in all this and yet based on the evidence, he has had a hand in as much contemporary American fiction as anyone else. Maybe we should start revering him as a mystical straw who has stirred so many fine drinks?

OK, forget the cocktails. But I recently read that Sam Lipsyte's journey from sad nobody to literary discovery to "comic genius" included an invitation to join the prestigious Lish writing seminar. I have no information on any "girlie action," "play," or "bi-curious and known drunk" Lipsyte received as a direct result of such membership, but it does seem as if once again--as with Carver, Hannah, Richard Ford, and others--we can thank El Gordo for anything we know about Lipsyte's fiction (input The Ask at a virtual front near you).

So in closing, an open invitation to Lipsyte: dish us the real deal on Lish--all the dirt or other brown dust worth mentioning. Or at least tell us what we should know about this guy...

...thanks, Sam.

And blessed Barry, yes, rest in peace and leave a light on for the rest of us.
For more on Lish's history of helping literature, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gordon_Lish is a place to start.