One thing for which you’ve got to give Jonathan Safran Foer credit: he’s certainly consistent. Not as a writer, mind you. His debut novel, Everything is Illuminated, its understandable preciosity aside (what was he, like, twelve when he wrote it?), could reasonably be considered “promising,” while its followup, the 9/11-themed Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, was absolute twaddle. So, no consistency there. No, the way Foer is consistent is that every time he deigns to make some sort of public pronouncement, he sounds—to paraphrase Joe Pesci’s Nicky Santoro in Casino —like a complete fuckin’ jagoff.
In an AP story published yesterday, all about how writers love Barack Obama because he, like them, is all writerly and stuff, Foer says, “Until now, my identity as a writer has never overlapped with my identity as an American — in the past eight years, my writing has often felt like an antidote or correction to my Americanism.”
Wow. He’s not very bright, is he? (For one thing, he’s using the word “Americanism” incorrectly.)
Not to get all patriotic or nationalistic or what have you, there are certain things in one’s cultural DNA that not only can one not escape from, but that one ought not even want to escape from. For one thing, Foer ought to understand that he writes—prissily, I grant you, but whatever—in American English, which is quite distinct from the English they write across the pond. Secondly, there is a distinctly American grain in literature. (Imagine, for instance, Herman Melville as a European. You can’t.) As an American writer, one can either go with it or go against it, but it’s always there. Whether you like it or not, your being an American is not vitiated by the fact that you think our current President is a douchebag, or whatever the hell your problem is.
When they were working in the U.S., Lubitsch and Wyler and Wilder all proudly identified themselves as American filmmakers—and they created some of the greatest of American films. Russian-born Vladimir Nabokov continued to identify himself as an American writer even as he spent his final years in Switzerland. But precious widdle Jonathan Safran Foer’s apparently above all that. When I read Foer’s quote, I was reminded of a 9/11 story that I didn’t tell in my reminiscence here this year. One of the people I ran into in the lobby of the Toronto Hyatt was Vincent Gallo, who was starring in Claire Denis’ Trouble Every Day. I asked the wild-eyed self-styled iconoclast what he thought of what was going down, and he said, “Well, I dunno. I’ve been feeling pretty estranged from New York for a while, so…” And he shrugged. “But I guess it’s bad, yeah.”
So if you’ll excuse me, I’m now going to stroll up to Park Slope and kick the crap out of Foer. Although I might force him to listen to the MC 5’s Back in the U.S.A. first.
Ugh. I haven’t read Foer, and one of the reasons is that a while back, around the time “Extraordinarily Noise and Pretty Nearby” came out, I read an interview with him in which he complained about the idea of writing being regarded as a “craft”. He said something to the effect that no good writing could be produced until a writer dispensed with that notion. I don’t believe he said what he thought writing SHOULD be regarded as, apart from the implication that it was the artiest of Arts. Anyway, I took the whole thing to mean that he wasn’t fit to spit-shine Donald E. Westlake’s shoes.
And this “Americanism” horseshit is just the capper. I’ll not be sullying my bookshelves with his name, I tell you! And as a PS, I’m still reading “Revolutionary Road”, and I can guarantee you that Yates understood that writing was a craft, along with everything else it can be, and is.
This is emblematic of a certain strain of blogging I tend to shy from, but, well, fuck that for now.
–JSF’s emblematic of every reason I stopped writing fiction a couple years ago. I mean, fuck. Not that I think my WAY WAY WAY too subjective (and yes precocious) attempt at a first novel – I didn’t quite get I could not be nor will I ever be Thomas Wolfe or James Agee, much less Jonathan Lethem, at age 23, however sly my aping – was in the same category of limp-dick’ded-ness as the words Sr Foer arranges(?), but, well, it was a lot to weigh looking at that manuscript I printed – that manuscript I knew few would or even should read – all while homebody keeps getting paid, I mean PAID, to spew nonsense.
And, yes, bill (and GK): Yates is on some purity shit I cannot touch either. Also, smart. Like, yes, please.
I have to say, having just read the actual AP article, that EVERYBODY quoted there came off as insufferable. Jane Smiley is “convinced” that Obama wrote the speech himself? Well, if she’s convinced then I guess there’s nothing left to say.
After the Park Slope-set dust has settled, Glenn, stop by Dan’s and mine for a drink.
Bill, Smiley’s quite the piece of work herself. A few years ago she put forward the inspired idea of removing “Huckleberry Finn” from the canon—all those “n‑words,” you know—and replacing it with the well-nigh unreadable “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” because…well. you can guess. As Mr. Bunny would say, “What a tar-rar-rar-goon-dee‑a.”
Yes, I remember hearing about Smiley’s war against Twain. Simply unbelievable, even unconscionable. How can you call yourself a writer, and hold a belief like that?
I can’t comment on JSF–don’t know the first thing about his writing and am not inclined to find out–but Gallo’s epic assholery never ceases to amaze. I wish he would alienate himself right out of my city.
And not to be pedantic, but– which “America”? I mean, that’s a pretty big and diverse tradition of writers. And one of the greatest, Walt Whitman, summed it up for me: “Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” Isn’t THAT America– big, contradictory, gloriously paradoxical? We can all disagree about certain specific leaders or movements or moments, but damn–that kind of multitudiousness is a gift for a writer, not a trap.
An insightful piece by Malcolm Gladwell in the New Yorker a few weeks back had ‘yer man’ as one of the interviewees.
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/10/20/081020fa_fact_gladwell?currentPage=all
The article is about ‘late bloomers’ in the arts. (A facinating topic for this blog someday perhaps) Foer, being a ‘non-late bloomer’ came across as a right git when he couldn’t fathom that writers have to take time to hone their craft. Really?
Sorry, I just can’t work up the sense of outrage. I enjoyed Everything is Illuminated, and haven’t read anything else by JSF. It’s true, he sounds like an idiot in the AP article, but I see it more as a silly soundbite stemming from a general sense of relief and elation than anything more risible. Certainly, I scoffed upon reading the entire quote, but I didn’t feel any desire to pummel him.
As for Smiley’s comment, when she says she’s “convinced,” I think she means that Obama gave a very convincing performance, which is true, and he reportedly does write his speeches, so I’m not sure what the big issue is there. I’ve read Dreams of My Father, and was surprised at how thoughtful it was, and how nuanced in its view of race and ethnicity.
When I saw Eugene Jarecki’s Why We Fight, what stood out to me about Ike’s famous farewell speech was not just how prescient it was, but how erudite and forceful his rhetoric was. After two decades of bullshit fake folksiness out of the White House, it was a shock to see a president addressing the American people as though they were capable of understanding the English language, let alone the complexities of his argument.
I think it’s understandable that those of us who love our language and what it can express are thrilled that the American people elected an intelligent and articulate man to be our next president. I can understand it if these writers got a bit carried away.
I’m reminded of something Hemmingway wrote or said (I can’t remember which and I’m not able to look it up): “What every writer needs is an absolutely earthquake-proof shit-detector. Every real writer has one.”
From the AP story, I’d say everyone of those writers would fail the test. I’ve never met anyone who would admit to reading something by Smiley, and I’ve always thought that people only claimed to read and like Morrison to because of the cult of Oprah. Her books are tedious and are filled with such overwrought language you want to bang your head against the wall. I never have read Foer, but he seems to be the perfect candidate for the Joaquin Phoenix Uber Douche Award.
I never understood Smiley’s war on Twain; why hold up Uncle Tom’s Cabin as a counterexample to begin with? It’s a historically significant potboiler, but that’s all it’s succesful at- being a potboiler.
Why didn’t AP interview Tom Pynchon?
I second Campaspe’s comment. What a knob.
Everybody’s so tough on the Internet. When did everyone get so tough?
Just before you got here.
It’s not that we’re so tough. It’s just that Foer is so, so, soft.
Still, lest my jests be misunderstood, let me make clear that I have no intention of kicking the crap out of, or pummeling, Mr. Foer, and in fact have no desire whatsoever for any form of physical confrontation with the twerp. Just so we’re clear.
While I find Foer’s comments to be insufferable, I’m sad to see everyone leap upon Stowe for associating a bit too closely, from beyond the grave, with Jane Smiley. Maybe I’m biased–my discontinued PhD dissertation contains a chapter on Stowe, particularly on her underread The Minister’s Wooing–but this just seems like the product of mid-twentieth century literary criticism, the old anti-sentimental, anti-paleface prejudice. So what if Smiley wants to replace one work with the other on school syllabi? That may be incredibly stupid, since one is a generation removed from the next, therefore making them less interchangeable, but it doesn’t diminish Stowe’s work.
Joel—your points are well taken, and appreciated. Look…my initially overheated comments notwithstanding (and I apologize for them), I think Stowe is an heroic figure in American literature, who should be read, appreciated, and studied. My argument with Smiley has to do with her condescension—her notion that young readers of today won’t be able to “get” Twain. That’s ill-informed, and insulting.
The AP article is insufferable and transparent. Reagan was a writer, too – wrote many of his speeches, if not novels. Did these authors swoon over Reagan? No, they surely despised him, as did so many of our “intellectuals” at the time.
I’m going to be all maverick‑y and stand up for J.S. Foer. I haven’t read his debut, but I actually quite liked Extremely Loud despite its preciousness. I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it that I have good taste in other literature. My wife and I went to hear him interviewed after ELIC came out, and he came across as friendly, thoughtful, and not at all douche‑y. I met him briefly afterward and we talked about our mutual love of Philip Roth.
Well, Tim, I’d take your word more readily if you’d provide some examples. Not that I don’t. Still.
I’m not surprised that Foer is friendly to fans. Every little bit helps. And it’s nice that he likes Philip Roth. Who is every inch an American writer, and would never be so thoroughly dense as to try and deny it.
Good point, Discman. All Foer and the rest of the writers in that article are really saying is that they agree with Obama’s politics. And, of course, they’re also implying that those who don’t share those politics are anti-intellectual, and anti-art…mouthbreathers, in other words, who dream only of banning books.
Hmm. When Bill’s right, he’s right. I mean—and I speak as something of a leftie myself—the odds that these usual subjects are ONLY behind Obama on account of some hifalutin literary pedigree is ridiculous. Many of them might have swooned over Barack even if he talked like Rudy Ray Moore. Come to think of it, I might have dug that myself…
Reagan’s an interesting case. Frequently underrated by folks on my side of the political fence. Not, however, underrated by one Barack Obama. I think the guy learned quite a bit from R.W.R.
Amen, Glenn. “Extremely Exploitative and Incredibly Irritating” is just about the most galling novel I’ve ever read, and it doesn’t surprise me that the man who managed to use the 9/11 tragedy as grist for the cutesy story of a precocious lil kid, has some not-too-bright things to say about Obama and his own “Americanism” or lack thereof.
But a surprise in the AP article was the passing mention of Michael Chabon, who I like a lot more than Foer. Chabon became an Obama supporter “through the quality of his prose”? Really? That’s what did it? I guess this proves that left-wing cultural elites can be just as myopic and wrongheaded as right-wing philistines.
The really interesting throwaway line in the article, though, is the bit about Obama’s “student poetry” being praised by Harold Bloom! Obama didn’t go to Yale, did he? How did he know Bloom? This is a fascinating tease for lit nerds.
Oh, and if Foer was never able to reconcile his writerness with his Americanness, I guess he never read or heard any of Abraham Lincoln’s speeches or letters. Lincoln’s prose was often stunningly gorgeous, and last I checked, he was a pretty great American too.
“Not to get all patriotic or nationalistic or what have you, there are certain things in one’s cultural DNA that not only can one not escape from, but that one ought not even want to escape from. For one thing, Foer ought to understand that he writes—prissily, I grant you, but whatever—in American English, which is quite distinct from the English they write across the pond. Secondly, there is a distinctly American grain in literature.”
I don’t know about that – I’m certainly not denying that upbringing and nationality play a role in author’s works, but aren’t the most interesting authors those that transcend such boundaries? And are “American authors” really bound by “American English”?
Case in point: T.S. Eliot, Henry James or E. A. Poe
And in the larger context of world literature: is Shakespeare being English, Goethe being German, Borges being Argentinian, Calvino being Italian, Cervantes being Spanish really such a defining aspect of their work? What about Kafka? Was he Czech, Jewish, Austro-Hungarian, German, Bohemian?
Interesting points, Novakant. I do believe in a certain universality of great art. But I’m not sure if transcend is the right word. Eliot very deliberately and self-consciously remade himself as an English poet, in a way that Pound, for all his years in Europe, never quite did. The clash of American and European cultures is one of James’ great themes. Poe wrote as much about Europe as Karl May wrote about the American Old West…and yet…
I certainly don’t think that the national identities of the authors you cite above are not pertinent. If Calvino had not been Italian, he would not, perhaps could not, have written “In the Nest of Spiders,” for instance. While Borges’ fantasias appear to “transcend” nationality, I doubt that “Emma Zunz” and/or “The South” would be what they are without benefit of Borges being Argentinean. A non-English Shakespeare’s “Henry IV” would be a little different than the version we have…
As for Kafka—his fluidity in this respect is certainly reflected in the work…
Even more bizarrely, once you think about it, Foer’s debut novel has himself as a character as an archetypal American. And the novel is – in that absolutely classic American genre – the “Americans go to Europe” story which every generation apparently tries to recreate.
I would stick up a bit for Foer’s comment about being unable to reconcile being an artist with being an American – in Foer’s specific case, I think Foer is bullshitting us, but it’s not an easy question in general to wrangle with.
Funny, I had just started in on that Loud/Close book yesterday (the NYC Rescue Mission was giving away free books) when I came across this link from The House Next Door.
So far Loud/Close is splitting its time between tap dancing on my nerve endings in cleats and forcing me to appreciate the charm of a weird knowitall kid and his cooler than cool dad. So I have to stick up for JSF the way I stick up for Wes Anderson: Let the little punk sing his song, there’s some truth in it. So far.
I’m not fond of anybody who salivates over their country, somebody else’s country, their neighborhood, their football team, etc. It’s all stupid. Patriotism is fundamentally stupid, irrational. People are people. Americans, Europeans, Brooklynites, Yankees fans– all need to get over themselves and their precious heritage. Burn all flags. I hope rainbow-colored Obama serves as a bridge to a future where national identity wasn’t such an obsession.
I enjoyed the book and the film immensely. I have friends from Russia, and they said that this was the first movie made in US that truthfully depicted living “over there”. Thank you for the article.