There are a few gaping holes in my literary education that I’ve been trying to fill since my days as an English major. Looking back, I didn’t so much mind the many mandatory Brit Lit courses that always seemed to have the same reading lists (Chaucer, Wordsworth, Donne, Byron, Shakespeare, Milton, etc), but I just wished there would’ve been more breadth to the books I consumed week after week, September through April.
In my third year I was lucky enough to have a prof who framed his course reading assignments with a socio-political perspective. Reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein through the technophobic lens of her time was an eye-opening experience and tempered my growing reactionary attitudes towards 19th century lit.
Hungry for something more modern, I quickly became a Can Lit advocate who would almost always pick up a New Canadian Library paperback before touching a Chuck Palahniuk book. (Actually, that’s still true today.) But mid-20th century American lit — especially works from writers like John Cheever, Flannery O’Connor, William Faulkner, John Updike, and Joyce Carol Oates — has, for the most part, remained foreign to me.
Many of my writer friends would probably say I’m not missing much. But I’m a geek. I like books and I like making sense of the world through what’s in ‘em.
The “Why” of Reading
I refuse to accept that it’s okay for today’s writers to go about their work, doggedly pursuing their dreams of Oscar-worthy screenplays, cult-honoured novels, or off-Broadway plays, without harbouring a certain hunger for the world of writing that lives and breathes around them.
That’s not to say an aspiring writer of horror scripts must be able to quote Edgar Allen Poe and HP Lovecraft on command. It’s the underlying willingness to learn from other writers that I think is important. Just a simple but lifelong acknowledgment that the world is bigger and more complex than what you can understand and convey through your own writing — so drink deep of others’ work.
Fast ‘n’ Loose in Post-War Suburbia
I picked up a slim, used paperback copy of Cheever’s The World of Apples for five bucks. After a few days of on-the-bus and just-before-bed reading, I was charmed. “He structures his stories like Simpsons episodes!” was a recurring thought I had during most stories.
The much-deserved success of Mad Men has reinvigorated interest in this era of Americana. It’s not so difficult to plug into the troubles of 1950s Massachusetts suburbia as it might’ve been a couple of years ago. These 10 to 20-page stories of suburban love, hate and politics aren’t told in a straightforward “A causes B resulting in C” narrative style. There are many false beginnings that seem like Cheever is just dicking around and can’t find the thread he wants to follow for a few pages.
I haven’t really encountered much of that loose approach lately. The kind wherein a reader has to slog through passages where the writer seems to be unsure of their path but aware that something must be said — and so they “chat” about things like their literary education, or the first time they really understood Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or maybe even their own cloudy perspective on literature.
Half-Written Titles Are
There’s a lot to be said for the more to-the-point writing that’s becoming increasingly popular (at least, with me it is), but those rambling sections of seemingly self-indulgent prose are usually what firm up an authorial voice for me. I’m not suggesting writers should be sloppier, I just think we as readers need to offer more trust to authors that they will get us where we’re supposed to be going… eventually.
My point? Reading books like Cheever’s The World of Apples is worthwhile because there should always be a certain amount of teasing in the author-audience relationship. Writers need to be aware of the reader’s expectations and tread that line with a certain amount of grace and forced clumsiness. Pertinent details should be left out. Scenes should be left half-described. A stretch of shops on a main street in a small town should be described for 40-some pages…
And readers should always reserve the right to skim past all that crap to get to the good stuff.