In Defense of Plot

Last weekend, I had a conversation with someone about Flannery O'Connor. I said that I had read A Good Man is Hard to Find a couple years ago, and while I appreciated her insight in a general way, I didn't find her way with words particularly stirring.

The person I was talking to seemed disappointed, and the conversation moved on. However, the conversation was enough for me to bump Everything That Rises Must Converge to the top of my "To Read Next" stack.

I'm blown away.

It took one sentence on the second page of the first story--"He decided it was less comical than jaunty and pathetic."--for me to realize that I had had no idea what I was talking about. Who could possibly have thought to rub "jaunty" and "pathetic" against one another like that? I've spent the last few years worshiping at the altar of Amy Hempel.  It's hard not to marvel at the subtle, delicate flavor of her sentences, which comes from so many words, clauses, and thoughts being patiently boiled off like excess sherry.  A sentence by Amy Hempel leaves you with the essence of each thought on your palate, wanting more but having more than enough to know what a great meal you're having. However, "less comical than jaunty and pathetic" is a marriage of words that I would never have expected--a truly surprising moment of language that, in context, feels inevitable.  What other pair or trio of words could possibly evoke what the active words in that sentence evoke? 

I don't know exactly where or when it happened, but somewhere over the last few years I came to believe that good short fiction with elegant, powerful language and true depth of insight did not deal with plot.  I felt that in the 21st century, short fiction had moved beyond plot.  Maybe it was Amy Hempel and Jane Avrich's statements that they start with voice (and Hempel's confession that plot is the least element she thinks about).  Certainly Gary Lutz's declaration that film was the perfect story-telling medium and so short stories should now be about psychology and syntax contributed to the prejudice. Plot was now the stuff of low-brow short fiction. If you wanted a gripping plot, read a novel or go to a movie. (Because he is a satirist, George Saunders was allowed to use plot in his short stories and still be taken seriously. But no one else. Just him.) And, to be honest, some of the contemporary short stories I had been reading lately reinforced that opinion--they were plot-driven and bad.   

O'Connor, though, has washed away my ability to hold that prejudice. Her stories are rich, full-bodied, and intricately textured.  True, they were written some seventy years ago, in the same half-century that yielded the work of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, but reading these pieces, it's impossible for me to delude myself into considering the possibility that short fiction has lost its claim to plot as a central story-telling element.  In true O'Connor fashion, it was a prejudice I wasn't even fully conscious of possessing.  

It's been said that when we read something that excites us, it doesn't feel like we are being moved with a new idea or insight so much as it feels like an idea or insight we never realized was in us was being dislodged and brought into sight.  O'Connor's collection, though, does something entirely different: it dislodges and drags into sight the things in us we had hoped to keep safely locked up and hidden. Petty bitterness, hypocrisy, dehumanizing prejudice, deluded superiority--this is a fearless collection of fiction. Fitzgerald may have lamented what he saw the generation around him doing, but O'Connor lamented what the people around her were on a fundamental level.  And not just the people around her, but herself, as well.

It has to be debilitating to look not only at the inner failings of those around you but of yourself as unflinchingly as these stories indicate O'Connor had.  To be able to accept that we are all that vile, that wretched--more wretched than we could ever admit or imagine--you would need some kind of external assurance that you were more loved and accepted than you ever dared hope.

I wonder where O'Connor got that affirmation from?

Bloodless

No, this isn't a blog about that "Twilight" movie.  Rather, it's a post about the fact that everything I've written for the past month or so feels bloodless and inelegant.  I have a week to finish my projects at my current job, because I start a new one a week from today, and I'm going into it with dull, blunt, clumsy writing.  

If anyone is wondering what to get me for my birthday, a more disciplined and consistent relationship to my talent would be a fantastic gift idea.

Stacked

I have a big stack of books that I "want to read next." Typically, I never get around to reading anything from this stack--maybe it's because the stack seems like an assignment and high school and college got me in the habit of always forsaking my assigned work for the benefit of extra-curricular work. Instead of reading the books that are piled up next to my bed, I often find myself re-reading Tumble Home or taking up my roommate's advice when he urges me to read whatever the latest quirky book about words he read is.

However, as I was heading to bed tonight, I realized that I'm more excited about my stack right now than I have been in a long time.

As well as Bauckham's academic apologetic tome (which I've been swearing I will return for six months now) and a classic theological hardcover by John Stott, I'll also soon be reading a "classic of modern Jewish theology." I should be polishing off collections of short fiction by Fitzgerald, Julian Barnes, and Miranda July soon, plus a new translation of the complete fictions of Borges. Round that out with a roommate-recommended novel and some surely-eloquent letters and speeches by our most articulate president (those were the days, right?), and it's finally becoming clear to my inner slacker that my stack is not an assignment, it's a wish list. And I get to read it. How awesome is that?

First, There Was Darkness...

About a month ago, I spent Friday and Saturday on the couch watching seven or eight movies. (It's not as sad as it sounds--I was sick.) The highlight of the weekend was getting to re-visit a movie that has actually had a discernible impact on my life, Dark City.

The movie, for those of you who haven't seen it, follows amnesiac John Murdoch, who can't remember whether or not he's a serial killer. In pursuit of a mysterious doctor who offers answers about his identity, Murdoch flees from the police (who think he's guilty) and a group of long-coated strangers (who want him killed). The movie begins in the visual and story-telling traditions of classic film noir, but as the plot weaves its way toward resolutions, the story becomes a fusion of German expressionism and classic early science-fiction.

Revisiting the movie was a fantastic experience, and I was going to write a blog entry about it, but I was lazy.

Two years ago, Roger Ebert mentioned in the boilerplate of a review on his website that he had just recorded a new audio commentary for the director's cut of Dark City, but there has been no mention of it anywhere since, including in the studio's annual Upcoming Releases schedules. I had honestly given up hope that it would ever actually be seen, envisioning it sitting on a shelf somewhere between the master print of Chimes at Midnight and the original ending to Kubrick's The Shining.

Well, I'm glad that I didn't write that blog entry a month ago, because this morning I got an e-mail from a good friend letting me know that the Dark City director's cut will be released on DVD and Blu-Ray on July 28 (and I am now saved from needing to do two entries on Dark City in a month)!

It's long been rumored that the director's cut will not just restore a scene or two but will actually present the story with an entirely different pace and editing style (and, mercifully, without that blasted voice-over that kicks the movie off by revealing everything the viewer is supposed to learn at the end). As released, the film's editing was frenetic and left the viewer as de-centered as Murdoch, so I'm interested in seeing it at a more contemplative pace, having the opportunity to let my eyes linger over locations and environments that I only got to see in brief flashes before.

I know this may not be too exciting to the five of you who know that this blog exists, but the day this thing comes out is actually going to be pretty exciting for me. I just thought I'd share.

You can read the original news at dvdactive.com.

Go, Recession, Go!

Let’s be honest—our economy never really recovered from the last recession. Remember that one? It started around 2000 when pets.com shut down and suddenly every broker in the Financial District realized what every teenager on Geocities already knew: having a website didn’t mean you were about to receive piles of money.

However, a little article buried on the front page of nytimes.com this evening officially announced the beginning of a new recession.

Though most of us have probably already been working under the assumption that the recession started months ago, President Clinton’s Treasury Secretary is among the first and highest-profile public figures to go from saying, “A recession is possible” to saying, “Oops! We’re in a recession.”

I find interesting the up-front acknowledgment that there is a difference betwixt the “economic growth” that America has been experiencing for the last five years and the “real economy,” which is measured by the financial health of the majority of American families. Near the end of the article, they call President Bush’s tax cuts “regressive,” which they are.

I’m just starting out in my life and in my career, and I’m sure that our economy will eventually find its way back to stable health, but I don’t think that on this side of the resurrection I’m ever going to see the same buying power per dollar that my parents saw while I was growing up. More manufacturing and technology jobs are being shipped overseas for less money, but any benefit that would have for people in unrelated industries is more than offset by the fact that many foreign currencies are gaining on the U.S. dollar. (Even the Canadian dollar has surpassed the U.S. dollar lately. Seriously? The Canadian dollar?)

Conventional wisdom would tell you that now is the time to buy some real estate or invest in some stocks that you know are going to rebound, but my portfolio is pretty much tied up in food, shelter, and the new R.E.M. CD.

I hope this recession ends soon, because I don’t want to have to sell my food.

Clinton Tax Returns

An interesting commentary on the "revelation" that Hillary and Bill Clinton have made a lot of money in the last few years.

Have a good weekend!

I'm Watching Sports Night on CSC, So Stick Around!

Maybe it's because I recently had to write four different reviews of Aaron Sorkin's latest play, or maybe it's because I recently encountered someone who reminds me of the whole Josh Charles/Teri Polo storyline and makes me hear that blasted Neil Finn song, but I revisited Sports Night this evening. As expected, I laughed (okay, more than expected), but I was not prepared for how raw, honest, and complex some of the key exchanges were.

A few years ago, there was a book printed called 100 Things to Love and Hate About Television. The West Wing was in there, but another entry in the book called Sports Night "Aaron Sorkin's real gift" to popular culture. After hundreds of hours of The West Wing, the entire run of Studio 60, and a month dwelling on The Farnsworth Invention, I have to say that I agree with the book. For as witty, inspiring, incisive, or just flat-out entertaining as his later projects have been, none of it has made me think and feel as much as Sports Night did tonight.

This is not just because of the writing, although it is probably the most emotionally honest and self-consciously stylish Sorkin has ever produced. It is because here, the actors bring a painful humanity to their roles. Most scenes seem haunted by the specter of the fact that every character participating has been pursuing their careers at the expense of their real lives. That the actors can underline even superfluous control-room chatter with a stifled desire for a balanced human life makes the witty banter something more--an attempt to hide their unstable selves.

"I've done enough rotten things to women in my life--there's no question I'm going straight to hell," Josh Charles' character quips to a female correspondent who has repeatedly accused him of having slept with her and then not calling. "I really don't need you padding the ballot box." This is indicative of the attitude most of these characters take to their flaws and to their dis-satisfactions--they can't deny them, but they can't face them. So, they hide behind their "superior wit and guile." Whether that's all on the page or not, the cast plays it well.

So, when Felicity Huffman's character confronts Brenda Strong's and the two let loose with a flurry of cutting verbal attacks and vulnerable confessions with no attempt to use wit to hide themselves or soften the blows, it's not only interesting and gripping, it's unsettling. We've seen these characters say things that are true, but this is the first time any of them allow themselves to be honest.

I didn't think I could still be surprised by Sorkin, and was sure that I couldn't ever be surprised by Sports Night again.

Thankfully, I was wrong. This is why I'm lucky to be able to write.