Category: Literary Thoughts

As a novelist and short story writer, I have criticized charges of “cultural appropriation” because they stifle creativity and don’t acknowledge the role of empathy and imagination in fiction (see my essay “Theirs or Ours? Who Owns Culture? Appropriation on the Docket”). Claiming something is “Mine!” is normal in toddlers, but damaging in literature and the arts. So, it was with many head nods that I read The New York Times opinion piece, “The Limits of Lived Experience” by Pamela Paul, which says, in part, “According to many of those who wish to regulate our culture, only those whose ‘lived experience’ matches the story are qualified to tell the tale. As with most points of view, some of it is valid. Clearly those who have lived through something — whether it’s a tsunami or a lifetime of racial discrimination — have a story to tell. Their perspective is distinct and it’s valuable. But it is, crucially, only one perspective. And to suggest that only those whose identities match those of the people in a story is a miserly take on the human experience. Surely human beings are capable of empathizing with those whose ethnicity or country of origin differ from their own. Surely storytellers have the ability to faithfully imagine the experiences of ‘the other.’ If we all wrote only from our personal experience, our films, performances and literature would be reduced to memoir and transcription. What an impoverished culture that would be.” For additional notes from Paul’s essay, and more of my literary thoughts, see REFLECTIONS.

The value of Netflix stock dropped 35% in April after the service lost subscribers for first time in over ten years. Some pundits attributed the loss to Netflix tightening the screws on password sharing; others to folks going out more as pandemic restrictions eased. My theory: people have reset their mental bandwidth and now have room to read at length. I haven’t owned a television for nearly twenty years. I opted to read instead. By coincidence, however, I signed up for Netflix shortly before COVID. At the pandemic’s height, when anxiety peaked, I unwound each evening with a half hour or so of screen time. I still read, but not with the same concentration. Now that COVID anxiety has abated, I can again dive deep into books. So perhaps other Netflix subscribers are also hitting “reset.” Their spirits up, they’re settling down with a good book. More literary thoughts at REFLECTIONS.

Reading a review of concert pianist Jeremy Denk’s memoir Every Good Boy Does Fine: A Love Story in Music Lessons, I wondered how a composer knows what note, chord, or musical phrase on which to end a piece. That led me to ponder how a writer knows just the right the word, phrase, or sentence with which to conclude a narrative. Satisfying musical and literary endings achieve two goals. They resolve what has come before, offering a sense of inevitability that the ending is exactly as it should be. Yet, that final note or word also resonates beyond the work. As a writer, I know when I’ve “landed” the ending. I don’t have a map or GPS to steer me. I simply trust that I’ll eventually get there. See more thoughts about writing at REFLECTIONS.

“If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired” (Anton Chekhov). French feminist filmmaker Céline Sciamma, profiled by Elif Batuman in The New Yorker (February 7, 2022), says that while patriarchy insists “conflict is the natural dynamic of the storyteller,” she moves beyond that dictum. In Sciamma’s movies, situations that would typically elicit an explosive conflict are met with acceptance, even agreeableness. Yet her films sustain dramatic interest. (Disclaimer: I haven’t seen Sciamma’s films, only read about them.) Comments Batuman, “Perhaps Sciamma is on to a secret that nobody else has guessed: you don’t actually have to shoot Chekhov’s gun.” I wondered whether writers could likewise make their characters say “No problem” instead of “No way!” It was akin to inverting Tolstoy’s observation and declaring, “Every happy family is happy in its own way.” As a feminist myself, I applaud Sciamma’s sensibilities, but I can’t imagine eliminating conflict from my narratives. My work rarely features physical violence, but conflict, conveyed through words, gestures, and body language, is key to character development and plot. A gun may not be fired, but someone is bound to shoot off their mouth or fire off a letter. So, my view is that what makes a creative product “nonpatriarchal” is how conflicts are resolved. Read more of my thoughts about writing in REFLECTIONS.

Reviewing Lost in the Valley of Death, a biography of trekker Justin Alexander Shetler, Michael Paterniti considers the inherent contradiction of a solitary seeker compelled to write about his exploits on social media, and asks “the most telling spiritual question: If you don’t post about a profound experience, did it really happen?” (The New York Times Book Review, 02/13/22). I pondered the literary corollary, “If you don’t send your manuscript into the world, are you really a writer?” which is akin to “What’s the difference between a job and a hobby?” I’d say the latter is solely for personal satisfaction whereas the former also entails an external reward — publication, good reviews, reader appreciation, even (least likely) income. I called myself a writer only after I began submitting my work. Were I to stop, would I no longer use that label? Or, once a writer, always a writer? Ditto an artist. “Writer” and “artist” are the jobs I list on my tax returns, whereas “developmental psychologist” disappeared after I retired in 2015. Life has enough unnecessary dichotomies that I hope never to be faced with “hobby versus vocation.” For more thoughts about the literary life, see REFLECTIONS.

“In many ways, writing is the act of saying ‘I,’ of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act . . . setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully” (Joan Didion, “Why I Write,” New York Times Book Review, 12/05/76). Didion’s incisive writing filled me with admiration. Yet her skill at voicing opinions antithetical to mine, most notably in her early pro-conservative years, also aroused my aggravation. Didion’s scathing arguments didn’t win me over, but I resented her for being such a good adversary.

In answer to a question about roles he was disappointed not to get, actor LeVar Burton said “That which is mine, no one can take away from me. That which is not for me, no amount of wishing or stamping my feet will make it so” (“LeVar Burton’s Quest to Succeed Alex Trebek” by David Marchese, The New York Times Magazine, 06/25/21). Writers should keep that wisdom in mind when submissions are declined. The work we’ve published is ours to own. The work that’s turned down may never achieve print. But unlike actors, for whom rejection means losing the opportunity to create that role, writers can always say they created that manuscript, whether or not someone else is inclined to publish it. More thoughts about writing at REFLECTIONS.