Lazarus Redux: The Death of the Novel ... Again
I will confess that I am a lowbrow; therefore my thoughts and opinions on "the novel" are probably trite, superficial and unoriginal; lacking understanding of the depths of the human heart, of the grandeur and pity of human existence; lacking any understanding, knowledge or experience of the human condition; are deaf to the nuances and meanings and poetry of language; are just plain ignorant, lazy and stupid. With all that as my qualifications, it seems to me that Joseph Epstein, in his Commentary essay "What Happened To The Novel?" is saying is that he can't find new doses of his drug of choice anymore, that he cannot find any contemporary novelists who speak to his particular understanding of existence, no one with whom his particular experience resonates.
Having stated my lack of qualifications, you can feel justified in reading no further.
To further affirm my lack of qualifications to an opinion, I have read, Brothers Karamazov (Constance Garnett translation), Ulysses and Moby Dick. Mostly, I found them turgid and boring, though among them Moby Dick is my favorite. I tried reading other "classics" but gave up because I could not get past their style, grammar, mostly long-winded syntax and cultural references. Finally, I can't stand reading Shakespeare other than in very short doses ("To be, or not to be ...."). I would rather watch the plays, and even those are difficult to understand which makes them mostly boring.
To begin with the aside with which Epstein ended his essay: perhaps he does not understand that the great cathedrals of Europe -- Chartres, Notre Dame de Paris, Westminster Abbey -- the symbolism of floor plans, their vaults, and their stained glass windows are all giant comic books for the education and edification of their illiterate congregations? Or even for their literate ones? As are the Bayeux Tapestry, the Tres Riches Heures or the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. Translating the impulse or meaning of one art form or technique into the form of another art form requires an understanding and appreciation of that other form's techniques and conventions, limitations and capabilities -- how the authors of these other arts try to convey their ideas and intentions.
I am not saying that the graphic novel of In Search of Lost Time is or is not a "success": It is a comic book, not a novel. It is like suggesting that Michelangelo's David is better than Shakespeare's Hamlet, or perhaps that Terry Southern's Candy is better than Rembrandt's Susannah and the Elders. I did attempt to read Remembrance of Things Past (the previous translation of In Search of Lost Time), but gave up for the above reasons. I also looked into the graphic novel version but did not pursue it because I was not attracted to the author's drawing style and because it had too many words -- show rather than tell -- and "showing" in a novel is different from "showing" in a painting. Conversely, has there ever been a great novelization of Citizen Kane or Casablanca? Or are all movies only worthy of the groundlings and riff raff?
Epstein seems to be saying that he cannot find a modern novel that is worthy of being compared to his "classics". He quotes Bottum to explain that the modern novel "no longer tells us 'what we are… the way we live now...'"
But could it be that rather than not telling us about our lives today, modern novels are saying "what we are… the way we live now..." in a way that Epstein cannot understand. Thus his complaint that the novel is dead, or at least dying. This is a human trait: that if something does not agree with what we have been trained and rewarded to believe in, then we humans have a strong tendency to reject, oppose, become angry at that thing, to see it as heresy, not just another opinion, another way of understanding and interpreting the world.
That would make him, like me, just another lowbrow in the culture of today, unable or unwilling or too lazy to engage in the intellectual struggle that would enable him to find the greatness in the works that so despises today.
Another problem is that there are so many books being written today, by so many more people, that it is becoming increasingly difficult to find that one great work among millions of lesser value. Not only are there more agents and publishers than ever before, but self-publishing is able to reach audiences beyond the dreams of earlier best sellers. And what about those billions of novels whose authors have never considered releasing into the world, now sitting on hard drives or memory sticks or floating somewhere in the cloud. Perhaps Epstein just hasn't found the classic he so longs for yet because he just hasn't looked in the right place. Could it be that the gate keepers of the novel are doing as so many do, betting on prior success, and therefore are publishing only published authors, no matter how bad they might be. Maybe the great novels of today are being written by the authors of chick lit. But the chances are, he'll never know.
Having stated my lack of qualifications, you can feel justified in reading no further.
To further affirm my lack of qualifications to an opinion, I have read, Brothers Karamazov (Constance Garnett translation), Ulysses and Moby Dick. Mostly, I found them turgid and boring, though among them Moby Dick is my favorite. I tried reading other "classics" but gave up because I could not get past their style, grammar, mostly long-winded syntax and cultural references. Finally, I can't stand reading Shakespeare other than in very short doses ("To be, or not to be ...."). I would rather watch the plays, and even those are difficult to understand which makes them mostly boring.
To begin with the aside with which Epstein ended his essay: perhaps he does not understand that the great cathedrals of Europe -- Chartres, Notre Dame de Paris, Westminster Abbey -- the symbolism of floor plans, their vaults, and their stained glass windows are all giant comic books for the education and edification of their illiterate congregations? Or even for their literate ones? As are the Bayeux Tapestry, the Tres Riches Heures or the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. Translating the impulse or meaning of one art form or technique into the form of another art form requires an understanding and appreciation of that other form's techniques and conventions, limitations and capabilities -- how the authors of these other arts try to convey their ideas and intentions.
I am not saying that the graphic novel of In Search of Lost Time is or is not a "success": It is a comic book, not a novel. It is like suggesting that Michelangelo's David is better than Shakespeare's Hamlet, or perhaps that Terry Southern's Candy is better than Rembrandt's Susannah and the Elders. I did attempt to read Remembrance of Things Past (the previous translation of In Search of Lost Time), but gave up for the above reasons. I also looked into the graphic novel version but did not pursue it because I was not attracted to the author's drawing style and because it had too many words -- show rather than tell -- and "showing" in a novel is different from "showing" in a painting. Conversely, has there ever been a great novelization of Citizen Kane or Casablanca? Or are all movies only worthy of the groundlings and riff raff?
Epstein seems to be saying that he cannot find a modern novel that is worthy of being compared to his "classics". He quotes Bottum to explain that the modern novel "no longer tells us 'what we are… the way we live now...'"
But could it be that rather than not telling us about our lives today, modern novels are saying "what we are… the way we live now..." in a way that Epstein cannot understand. Thus his complaint that the novel is dead, or at least dying. This is a human trait: that if something does not agree with what we have been trained and rewarded to believe in, then we humans have a strong tendency to reject, oppose, become angry at that thing, to see it as heresy, not just another opinion, another way of understanding and interpreting the world.
That would make him, like me, just another lowbrow in the culture of today, unable or unwilling or too lazy to engage in the intellectual struggle that would enable him to find the greatness in the works that so despises today.
Another problem is that there are so many books being written today, by so many more people, that it is becoming increasingly difficult to find that one great work among millions of lesser value. Not only are there more agents and publishers than ever before, but self-publishing is able to reach audiences beyond the dreams of earlier best sellers. And what about those billions of novels whose authors have never considered releasing into the world, now sitting on hard drives or memory sticks or floating somewhere in the cloud. Perhaps Epstein just hasn't found the classic he so longs for yet because he just hasn't looked in the right place. Could it be that the gate keepers of the novel are doing as so many do, betting on prior success, and therefore are publishing only published authors, no matter how bad they might be. Maybe the great novels of today are being written by the authors of chick lit. But the chances are, he'll never know.
posted by Godel at 5:40 PM
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