Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha ain't so funny

Roddy Doyle's Booker prize-winning novel isn't your typical novel, even among the literary types in which Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha fits so well. There's no real overarching plot tying all the episodic occurrences together, rather, a thin thread of feeling and a sense of security that changes over time--a length of time that is imprecise and imperceptible, as we are given only a vague sense of the order of events that occur in the novel. It is also all told from a 10-year-old boy's perspective, who learns a lot but still is very ignorant about much of the world. This structure may be off-putting to a lot of people, but if you take your time with this subtly pensive tale, you may find the story absorbing and enjoyable.

The story takes place in 1968 Barrytown, Ireland, a very specific time and a very specific place, but Doyle presents the context--even in the eyes of a ten-year-old boy--quite adeptly, so one gets a fairly accurate impression of the setting, and even the prevailing attitudes of the time. The titular protagonist gets into fights, picks on his little brother, participates in gross and masochistic dares, steals from certain shops, and looks down upon the boys who live in the newly constructed corporation housing. Like all his friends do. But slowly, over the course of the novel, the boy changes, and no longer fits in with his boorish peers. Coincidentally, or not so coincidentally, his parents' fights come to a breaking point and his father leaves the household for good, and he is drawn to one of the more aloof Corporation boys, Charles Leavy. The change is not much, but profound.

The story is strongest with its authenticity in detail and in Irish manners of speech, transporting to you to this very distinct setting. Roddy Doyle is nothing if not authentically Irish. That said, you'll need to put your context clue sleuthing skills to the test at times if you're not familiar with a lot of Irish-isms, or else have Google handy.

The structure of the novel is a major weak point, however, as each (mostly short) section is individually compelling, and not so much builds up a collectively compelling read. Though the book is under 300 pages, it took me longer than usual for a book of its length to read, largely because I wasn't dying to read more, only reading a few sections in a sitting and satisfied with that. It could be a purposeful device, allowing for deeper ponderation and a more true-to-life look at Irish boyhood, but a few sections likely could have been cut out without impacting the overall story very much. But to each their own.

In sum, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha is an engaging, sometimes funny, and occasionally shocking portrait of one Irish boy's life at the age of ten. 3.5 stars out of 5.

The Writer's Life in the 21st Century

One of my resolutions for this year has been to devote more time to my creative writing, which I had sorely neglected in 2012. By "work", I don't mean the first draft, which I practically breathe on the page, but revealing it to new pairs of eyes for the first time, rewriting and revising, and sending it out to strangers in strange offices for them to judge my work on its publishability. And as I am finding out, this is where the real work in creative writing endeavors lies.

So far this has proved to be a challenge, as I work a full-time job that requires me to sit in front of a computer 35 hours a week. But it's not just these hours I can factor in--there is also commuting time, wake-up time, and decompression when I get home after devoting my entire day to someone else. So the last thing I want to do when I get home is to spend another 3-5 hours on another computer. And do more work--albeit of a slightly different nature.

In order to become a published writer, one has to not only write, but rewrite, edit, and gather enough gumption to send out her work to the best magazines and publishers (and know which ones to send to). This can take several hours out of one's day, and if one has a day job or a life of some kind, this would have to be spread out over several days. And one would also need to have the energy and ability to concentrate on such things for such a large block of time. This doesn't turn out to be so easy. Some days I am just burned out and don't want to deal with anything that is also work.

These elements, of course, apply to all writers who have had to struggle to make their voices heard. What makes this time, this century, unique? The unlikelihood that we will ever be able to make a decent living off our writing alone, for one--the number of writers who could was always small, but it seems to be smaller. This makes the grinding 9-to-5 even more essential to the living of a writer's life.

We also have a lot of distractions to push away in order to devote the level of concentration required to follow through with the remaining steps of the writing and publishing process. Fewer people will also likely read our writing--especially if one decides to write literary fiction, thanks in part to the aforementioned distractions. (As for myself, though I do enjoy literary fiction, have found myself increasingly bored with literary realism, so those of you who specialize in that genre--good luck with that) With the amount of time required in order to even get oneself out there, it's amazing that people manage to do it at all.

Obviously, it's not impossible. But what if you feel like you were more on top of things before? When your schedule was more varied? Before you had broadband internet access, and just had your imagination to keep you company on those long summer days? What about those days when all you want to do is write, but you have to work all day that day?

Introducing a New Rating Rubric!

Before I post my next review, I'd like to take some time to explain a second dimension with which I will be rating books, movies, and the like. In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm pretty lefty, and I usually take a paragraph or two to point out any problematic content in the story in question. So, why not build upon that and add a handy rating system to gauge the severity of the oppressive content?

As my overall rating is based on five, and we all love multiples of five, this "Oppression Scale" will be based on 10. 1 means little to no oppressive content (which will be few, I'm sure) and a 10 will be OMG RACIST SEXIST CLASSIST HOMOPHOBIC BULLSHIT! Most likely, a "good" book will have a low oppression score, and a "bad" book will have a high oppression score. I predict that many will score around 3-7. Now, this score is obviously entirely subjective, as different people will be bothered by different content to varying degrees. And no, cliche's will not be counted--unless they're racist cliche's.

Let's take an example: The Hunger Games (book). It features a strong female character, a diversity of races (shown in a good light), and is critical of violence and reality TV. However, I don't think Collins goes far enough in portraying the horror of forced violence, and is inconsistent in Katniss's reactions to violence and death. Overall, these are pretty weak criticisms, so I'll rate it a 2. I don't think we need to be too concerned about this book.

As for an example on the other end of the spectrum: Fifty Shades of Grey. There is nothing redeemable about this book. Christian and Ana's relationship is abusive, yet the author tries to make it seem like an ideal romance. And given that so many women seem to think that this is OK, that makes it even worse. I haven't actually read the whole thing myself--I credit Jennfer Armintrout and her wonderful recaps for cluing me in on the details. And since I haven't read the whole thing, I'll just give it a 9: highly oppressive.

So, that's how it works! Look for it in coming reviews!

The Long, Winding Road of Unemployment

This blog has been sadly neglected over the past couple months because I am unemployed, and as I recently relocated I have doubled down on the job search. I say "unemployed" because although I am certainly working sporadically in my spare time on occasional freelance projects (and the major writing project I took up a few months ago), it's making a negligible amount of cash, and like I said, I have debts to pay off.


This is Part 2 of my personal problems confessional--though, like in my last post, these problems are certainly not unique to me. Today, I discuss the issues of unemployment.

I have never had a "regular" job: that is, one with not only full-time, regular hours (I've had those), but also a salary, benefits, and a guarantee that you'll be working there for more than a year. Not so surprising for a person my age these days. And at this point, I'm not so sure that I want one. Not with all the trouble the search for one has been causing me.

Source

Many of my friends, at least, have a job--even if it's not in their chosen field. Others don't have all this debt to worry about, so they can live in a city for a couple months looking for work--provided they find something within those months, of course. And some people have it worse than I do. But at what point do I give up my pride and do something that I'd rather not do? After less than three months of my relocation, I am all but prepared to take drastic measures for my situation to change. I am sick of debt, sick of no fun, sick of putting up with my parents' maddening idiosyncrasies. There was a reason why I left in the first place, and I'm already being driven insane.

Oh, I've gotten the interview--twelve times so far this year. And that's not even counting the ones I had since last August. And that's good, I guess. But life has no meaningful buildup, so it tells me nothing, other than the fact that I look good on paper. I have some ideas for Plan B's in the event of a failure to find gainful employment--go abroad, follow through with that startup idea, work with my mom at her dreadful dead-end job--but this will require discarding my debt, either actually or just ignoring it. And that won't be so easy.

Coming across this old article in the New York Times the other day, then, obviously struck a blow close to home for me--and it rings quite false. I want to go places, but I would prefer to not own a car for at least two more years; did the author take into account the fact that many young people live in cities with good public transportation systems? How expensive everything is? And what is so bad about attributing luck as a major factor is success--because it is true! Not to mention that a lot of college grads are riddled with debt--it's quite understandable that we aren't so keen to accumulate more debt when we're so uncertain whether we can pay off what we already have.

Sure, I don't have typical career aspirations, so as long as I don't give up hope that I will make a name for myself. But I'm just so tired of spending so much energy on this, and I want it to end--my last interview  was on Tuesday, and I was thoroughly exhausted for the next two days. I want this to be over. I want things to change, but I have hardly any power to do so. Some days I feel like I'm not doing enough, and other days I feel fine. Fridays are the worst. I'm angry at a lot of people, including myself. I wonder if I shouldn't have relocated, if I should've started looking for internships earlier, if I should've tried harder at networking. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.

I can only console myself that it isn't my fault, and just try harder next time. Perhaps this will be over sooner than I think, but if I've learned anything throughout this agonizing search, it's that I can never, ever get my hopes up.

*now that all that's off my chest, we will return to your regularly scheduled programming*

Class and Making Art

Part 1 of some personal thoughts that have been running through my mind over the past year, and  need to get off my chest--even if it means admitting weakness and anxieties. Today, some self-doubt about my "true" calling: do people like me aspire to things that are "above our station"?

In December 2010 I graduated college, and my parents took out loans for a few semesters at my alma mater (I was so relieved to find out that they didn't have to take out loans for all of them). But since I'm the beneficiary/recipient of the loans, I'm the one who has to pay the loans back.

I have been paying back the 30,000+ dollars that I now owe...which will be even more as time progresses and interest mounts. And as I have failed thus far to find steady employment, it will take longer than I expected... unless I win big. This is partly my fault, of course: I took no part in the financial aid process, allowing my mom to do it instead. And I probably should have started looking for jobs and internships sooner than I did. Like a fool without a trust fund, I focused instead on my studies, art, and social life instead of my financial future. Who did I think I was, cavorting around with a bourgeois lifestyle instead of living within my class?

The main thing I'm concerned about is how long will I have to be in debt. I'm going into writing, publishing, and possibly academia, after all. Two of these have the potential to pay well and pay off, but two also do not. I'm afraid that I won't be able to succeed, that I will become poor and be forced to live with my parents...who are already suffering from the side effects of aging and economic woes, and still have two more kids to put through school before they're out on their own. In this context, I guess my biggest fear is that my dreams will remain unfulfilled, and worse, that debt will further prevent me from seeing them become more than dreams.

Famous writers have been in debt, of course: but for their education? If I went back to when I was looking at colleges, I would again choose to go to a private, artsy-fartsy college like my alma mater. But I can't think of any writers who struggled through student loan debt...maybe it was because they didn't have to struggle.

See, to study writing is a professional and artistic endeavor traditionally relegated to the privileged few. It was something until relatively recently only those whose parents or spouses were wealthy enough to provide well for them. There were some educated among the poor and minorities, but they were few and far between. And not many of them made a living on their writing, or even lived to see it published. This goes for all the fields of work and art where formal schooling is often necessary, but the arts have a particular privilege that is more evasive than many other fields: the fact that most artists, musicians, and writers will not make much off their work, if at all. This compels them to find other work.

Now I'm not saying that all artists should be able to just do art full time--sometimes we may need the discipline of a workday to get our shit together--but it helps if you have benefactors to support you. It's related to the fact that unpaid internships are more viable for rich kids than not-so-rich ones, and how girls like Rebecca Black are able to make music videos in spite of a desperate need for voice lessons. Wealthy relatives are able to make connections, get their kid a leg up on the rest: this includes attending the best schools. Rich kids are the only ones who get to study whatever they want unscathed of financial burden, unless they're disowned or something.

I've occasionally wondered during my tenure at college if I was aspiring to be a member of a class that I am not a part of. What good is what is basically an English degree in today's world? People do still read and write, and ebook technology, coupled with the internet, is adapting the industry to this brave new world. But will I ever make any good money doing what I truly love to do: telling stories? Statistics point to "no". I've wondered if I should have studied astronomy, or psychology, or computer science, thus getting a degree that was actually "useful."

I do not regret it.

It should not be that people have disadvantages coming into this world, just because of the parents they were born to. I realize that though I have at least a decade of debt (unless I get lucky or desperate--or if the world ends, of course) ahead of me, I have plenty of advantages over others because of my parents, who support me no matter what I choose to do. And if us artists decided not to study our craft--or even do what we want to do and put it out there--art would remain the realm of only the rich and the white. Will student loan debt really be able to prevent me from putting myself out there in the age of the internet? Probably not.

I guess my fear is really the fear of all of us who have this insatiable drive to create, but teeter on the brink of poverty when our voices are just beginning to emerge. The fear of disappearing into a life we do not want to live. And all because of a lack of funds. It's more than unfair--it's criminal, robbing us young people, and society at large, of our contributions.

This Post Was Going to Review Memory Wall, But...

The last book I read was a collection of short stories by Anthony Doerr, called Memory Wall. It's six stories, and they're all linked thematically, to an extent. Memories do play a big role in them, for one. I liked the one story of his that I'd read in a writing class, called "For a Long Time this was Griselda's Story." It was a little outlandish (the title character becomes a magician's assistant) and folktale-y, but was presented in a very real way. I spotted this book in the library, and decided to take it out, even though I really shouldn't have. I liked it, especially the stories that featured women prominently (that was actually most of them) ... But I don't really want to sing its praises. Turns out I'm still suffering from the Franzen fatigue that came over me last September...I'm just not in the mood to read that kind of shit anymore. Or review it, really.

Books: By dudes, for dudes since 1700

Doerr isn't as infuriating as Franzen, as he doesn't use tired and annoying plot twists and character tics and doesn't stick to reality 100% of the time. Doerr actually brought some new ideas to the table, like visions of the Afterworld through epileptic seizures, and memories recovered through clunky cartridges and viewable by machine. I almost feel bad that I'm not giving this book a review; it's not really that bad--plenty of other people liked it, too.

Not to steer the conversation towards Franzen, but part of what I don't really like about him is how much everyone sang his praises--and I hardly heard anything about last year's National Book Award winner, a Black woman. I read this article, published in last week's Phoenix, that criticizes the publishing industry, the New York Times, and NPR for gender bias in terms of who they publish and how much publicity they get. As a woman who likes to write fiction that doesn't necessarily adhere to realistic boundaries, much less convention, it's discouraging that someone like me will (still!) have greater difficulties in rightful recognition than a male writer writing about men (hell, aside from the fact that I naturally gravitate toward writing about women, aren't there enough stories about men?) And I am also guilty of reading more books by men than women, though I often prefer books by women, rather than men.

Anyway, I've been feeling this way since I went to a reading last weekend--five men went up to read in a row. Once I realized that no women had went up to read, I didn't stick around to find out if there would be any--the fact that none had gone so far said enough to me. The worst part was that I hadn't even noticed until the fourth man went up to the mic. There is the idea that women are generally more timid, and therefore reluctant to share their work--after two years of workshops with a bunch of other writers, and hearing how hard it is to be published, my confidence was crushed. Though I know I have more than potential. If women do need more encouragement, then we need to do that. These problems pervade not just the literary world, either--it's a problem in all media, to varying degrees. It's sad that we still can't get past the fact that women are just as capable as men at creating art (sometimes even more so) and that their stories and perspectives are just as relevant. I appreciate writers like Doerr who do bring in other perspectives--in addition to elderly women, he writes about other countries, like China and South Africa--we could also bring in people who've actually had these experiences, with less risk of objectifying and exotifying them.

But there's something else in that kind of fiction, aside from the narrow worldview--it's hard for me to put my finger on what it is. I do know how to describe it: BORING. Finally, after four years of indoctrination by literary "experts," I can finally admit that straight-up literary realism bores me to tears! That's why no one reads these books--because they're all about the SAME DAMN THING. I'll take robots, wizards and warlords over a broody middle-aged man any day!

All told, I think I'm done reading this kind of fiction for a while. This is not the kind of fiction I want to write, so why should I waste my time with it?

*note: this post was originally written a week ago (1/29/12) so temporal references are a week off. I'm just feeling too lazy to change it.

Announcement

Reader, for several reasons that I will not get into here, I have not had the time or the energy to create material that can thusly be posted here. Maybe if/when things work out I'll be back in business.

However, I am currently updating two tumblr blogs that can always use suggestions and contributors.

http://musicalmagical.tumblr.com/

http://reviewsashaikus.tumblr.com/

If you're on Tumblr, follow me! Maybe I'll follow you in return. :)

Are Books For Hipsters?



This past weekend, I attended the Boston Book Festival, where writers, readers, and thinkers of all most stripes could convene and share thoughts and ideas; learn more about local bookstores, publishers, and nonprofits; and get free stuff. I left the festival with enough reading material to last me at least a month, plenty of free shit, and a lighter wallet. It was a great day, and I had a pretty good time.

But, I noticed something I had noticed at a different event last month (that being a Primus concert). But for some reason I'd never really noticed before.

Man, are these people white.

Courtesy of Hot Guys Reading Books

At the BBF, there were some Asians (both east and south), and maybe a couple black people. All of the presenters at the panels I attended were white (though some people of color presented at other events). And it wasn't just the whiteness that took my notice. It was the similarities between these people that you could identify what type of reader they were. Nonfictioners dressed conservatively, passing for mainstream professionals dressed casual, but not too casual. Most were probably older than 30, and made good money. Younger nonfiction readers (whom I saw plenty of in the line to Chuck Klosterman's book signing) were textbook hipsters, though many could pass for normal on a liberal-arts college campus. Klosterman himself looks kinda like that. I didn't really notice a significant male-female ratio disparity, but plenty of the younger guys had beards. Hipsters cross over into fiction, their favored genre being literary fiction. I'm kinda glad I didn't go to the Jennifer Egan panel (though I do want to read her book), because that was probably overrun with hipsters. There are also nerdy readers, who dress unconsciously and often sport facial imperfections; you find them more often in science-fiction and fantasy circles. There's also the artsy nerds, who pierce their bodies and dye their hair and wear black, and maybe cosplay (if they're more nerdy). These folks were at the graphic novel panel, and maybe at the Steampunk one, too. As for the other people over 30, they basically looked like regular people or professors (or regular professors). Maybe a smattering of artsy or nerdy--I imagine that most people tone down their look as they get older. One thing was for sure: a person wearing Abercrombie and Fitch or (Science forbid) Ecko would look out of place in this crowd.

The predictable makeup of this book-buying demogrphic speaks to the current limits of the written word--or at least, the marketing of it. Plenty of people of color write thought-provoking books, so why weren't more of them featured? Did the organizers of BBF realize they were inviting a whole lot more white people--or maybe other nonwhites theyasked were busy that weekend. Is it really just a symptom of a greater issue in publishing, where whites get all the attention?

I think it speaks to an even greater issue: education. The BBF is a showcase for writers and intellectuals, most of whom have at least a Master's Degree, and have little to no recognition among mainstream readers. Romance, thrillers, horror, and other trashy genres are not represented here. However, these genres (as well as YA, which actually has a place in "higher" literature) are the books most people read, and pay for the more intellectual and artistic ventures. In this way, higher literature is more of a subculture, with a small, concentrated demographic. Just like any other subculture, they adopt a certain way of dressing and talking to identify themselves. These people graduated from liberal arts colleges (or that part of the university), work in academia or publishing, vote Democrat, and hold corresponding liberal views. Obviously, there's a lot of overlap with the hipster population. Though I think the lack of radicals was because they're all at Occupy Boston.

So why are books largely considered to be the realm of the educated? Well, it takes education to read, and more to make sense out of what you read. It takes even more to talk about it in a reasonable, rational manner with others. And the thing is, most people don't get that education, whether it's because they're poor, received little encouragement at home, or are otherwise dissuaded from reading (eg. favoring the instant gratification of TV and video games over books). Most of the BBF attendees were of European or Asian descent, races that are often better-educated than blacks, (and so goes the earning potential) and liberal because, well, we're all smart, and truth has a "well-known liberal bias". Whites, moreso than other races, are encouraged to "follow their dreams," and therefore are more likely to pursue unlucrative artistic careers like writing. (disclosure: this is from personal experience only) Whites also make up the majority of faculty members at many univerisities.

This, of course, all boils down to economics: whites make up the majority of rich people in the US, and therefore are more educated, because they go to better schools and can afford a good college, and therefore are more likely to read for fun. The unfortunate effect is that reading is becoming an elitist activity, especially as the gap between the rich and poor widens, after-school programs get cut, and public libraries closed down. As they say, knowledge is power, and if knowledge becomes less accessible, the possessors of said knowledge grow more powerful. While I doubt that this avid book-reading demographic's going to take over America (money is more powerful), we have to get people interested in reading and writing again, if only to harness untapped critical thinking skills and open people's eyes to the injustices committed towards them and their community every day. Then we can make a change.

So, back to the original question: are books for hipsters? Yes. And everyone else, too.(There's way more non-hipster books out there, trust me) Literature has something for everyone, if you look hard enough.