Books: A Reader's Manifesto has put my shame at rest.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger      1 comments      link this post     




I ordered A Reader's Manifesto: An Attack on the Growing Pretentiousness in American Literary Prose on the basis of a blog post.

I have no regrets for buying this book. This is not always the case when I buy something off of Amazon without the opportunity to thumb through it.

Let me set the scenario for you.

I spent so much of my younger years gobbling up fiction, from the classic children's stories through my Black Stallion phase up to Lois Lowry and beyond. I was always reading, sneaking flashlights into bed to read after we were supposed to have the lights out. I read during study hall, read on the school bus, read while I ate my breakfast, read during the summer out on the swing set -- I read. Then, somewhere towards the middle of college, I stopped.

OK, so I didn't stop reading altogether. What I mean is, for all intents and purposes, I stopped reading "literary" fiction. Or at least, most of the fiction I read now is intended for children. I have shelves packed full of non-fiction. I have piles of fiction books I bought or was given that I started and somehow didn't find the pull to finish. And then there are the fiction books I have read (and re-read, in some cases) that will never get the literary seal of approval.

::None of the books in the pile of "books I've read" are romance books. Romance sucks.::

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what changed. I couldn't place a finger on what exactly caused me to veer towards non-fiction when I had never been interested in it before. I thought that maybe my mind and my personality were slowly morphing into something that no longer craved stories and only wanted non-fiction, but I knew that really wasn't true. I do read fiction, but it is either intended for a younger audience or is something by Stephen King or Michael Crichton with a few exceptions thrown in the mix. I crave good stories; I think about them for weeks and months afterwards. The characters become real in a semi-delusional way, if the story is good. I do love a good story.

I found myself struggling through the books I was told were literary gems, true achievements of the printed word fresh off the press and taking up all the review space in the Big City Newspapers. I found myself gagging on the wordiness, struggling to make sense out of long sentences and strange metaphors that defied the hierarchic and sensical longings of my order-craving mind. I bought books that were recommended as "powerful" and "moving" and felt both cheated and confused when passage upon passage made no sense. The beauty of non-fiction is that it avoids flowery language and bad poetry dressed up in prose, and that is most likely why I started veering that way; I can see that now, after reading A Reader's Manifesto. Non-fiction lacks heart, though, and I missed that about fiction. I missed the moment when I'd finish a really good book and the story would seem to hang in the air.

I have a hard time "getting" much of modern "literary" fiction. And because I value reading so much, and because I'm always trying to get my nephews and nieces to read, and because I love to write, and because of the value I place on a well-trained mind...I felt shame. I figured I was stupid, that the problem was with me and a mind that just couldn't comprehend or enjoy what was supposed to be great writing. Everyone was going bonkers over these books and I could barely choke down a few pages. They bored me, confused me, didn't make sense. Still, not one to quit, I would let the vicious cycle begin again, with me buying another literary hit in hopes I'd be different, hating it and pretending I didn't, nothing having changed.

Why did I assume I needed to be different? If I, the reader, didn't like the book, wasn't that the author's fault? Still, I tried to make it work.

To get past my shame, I tried to read books by creating a system that allowed for "skip-over" parts. Skip-over parts are the large chunks of writing that go on and on describing the most unimportant detail with confusing use of language and metaphor. My eye finds them naturally now, and I read a bit, then skip over, then find a little more meat, then skip some more -- all nearly without consciously being aware I'm doing it. The end result is one of turning a live read of a book into Clif's Notes. I get enough information so I can talk about the book with other people and B.S. my way out of any tight spots. I hit the high points and avoid entangling myself in clunky prose.

The bad thing about this, if I'm going to just narrow it down to one such thing, is that even though I don't naturally write long sections of description or metaphor I have caught myself forcing it into my writing because I figured that's what was good writing. Even if it seemed stupid. I have caught myself writing skip-over parts, wondering what the point of writing such drivel was if I was only going to skip over it later?

Then, lo and behold, A Reader's Manifesto entered my life and I can now hold my head up without shame. I am not alone! I am not stupid! The emperor really had no clothes and I was not being ridiculous for letting the sight of his flabby love handles bother me.

I don't feel so red-faced about sneaking one of my father's Louis L'Amour books in my purse. I don't feel guilty for never finishing Cold Mountain even though I had a full airplane ride from Hamburg to Minneapolis in which to do so. I don't feel like I'm missing out on new understanding of relevant topics when I weigh taking another whack at a book I foolishly bought because of a positive critique in Newsweek against another reading of one of my many M.M. Kaye books.

I suppose that, for those of you who disagree with Myers' assertion, it will be assumed that I really am just stupid. Or, as one manifesto-angered author said in an article talking about the book, that I am not able to understand anything I can't read "under a beach umbrella with nine kids running around." I do have a list of books I've read and enjoyed that you are welcome to look at and determine if, indeed, I am stupid. The list is not complete yet since it is a new section of my web site that I am building, but there are plenty of listings to make a judgement call, if such a call is necessary.

But back to the manifesto. I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow account of B.R. Myers' excellent book because I'm not a book reviewer. I am, however, a person who loves to read who has struggled with not liking a lot of what is available and finally understanding why this is. If this is you, or if you are a writer prone to bizarre metaphors with the gift of turning a non-event into a circus in everything that you write, I encourage -- nay, I implore -- you to read this book. Now.

A Reader's Manifesto is filled with witty and pointed gems.
"Even a nation brainwashed to equate artsiness with art knows when its eyelids are drooping."
Bingo. We line up for the ugly, hate it the whole time, and think we've somehow elevated ourselves if we suffer through the ugliness. The love handles are unsightly, people. Keep your clothes on no matter what the "elite" tell you.

Even though you can read much about B.R. Myers, and his essay, by doing a simple search on the internet, I still recommend that you get the actual book. Support the idea, for one thing, but also, the end of the book is as good a read. You can find out how the plebes (i.e. you and me) and the critics reacted to his boat rocking; his responses elicit the muffled laughter you'll have already allowed to escape during the earlier reading of the book. Plus, a bonus for writers! Myers lists ten things a "serious" writer should do. I'm not going to tell you what these ten things are, however. You need to buy the book. Then you can read these ten things for yourself and avoid them like the plague.

::Go now. Buy it. Help out the publishing house, even if they released a book that treats the election of President Bush in theatrical "post 11/2 world" overtones as if the world all but ended (which, I want to point out, it didn't) in an effort to galvanize against the "right" -- that includes me, their customer. A red-state rightwinger. Which actually kind of burns my butt, if you read the description of that book. Meaning it's fodder for another blog post. Maybe. But A Reader's Manifesto? Get that book.::

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Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger      2/06/2006 06:42:00 PM      (1) comments      Links to this post    

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1 Comments:

LOL. Julie, we may not agree on certain things, but we're on the same page with this book. Brava Brava! I continue to house TONS of books I felt I "should" read, reviewed as "amazing" and all the award-winners from before I caught on. (Just take a look a BookMooch or other trading sites for the huge number of these "literary greats" people no longer want! In fact, I'm listing my own unread/unfinished prize winners today.) I continue to try and find good current fiction, but now I "test read," trade and always buy used. What a shame for those of us who grew up reading, but worse for those who didn't catch the reading bug BEFORE all this nonsense. Excellent & very fair review!

By Anonymous Ella, at December 18, 2007 2:17 PM  

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