Fangirling and Writer-Nerd Chaos

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

I feel like I understand people's blorbofication of Javert because I get why someone would really cling onto a complex (male) antagonist with a traumatic past whose entire life is a lie and who kills himself when he reaches that final moment of realization. It is absolutely tragic, and it is easy and natural to cling onto that, we've all been there. But you need to understand that two things are in motion here: the first one is Javert's individual tragedy, and the second one is the broader system he personifies. He's a symbol. His primary function in the narrative is to personify the hateful, bigoted, cruel, inhumane legal system that intervenes after the fact and crushes all those that society has already put down. He, the incarnation of that bourgeois legal system, delivers the final blow. He finishes off what society started, and he does it with joy. When we say that he killed Fantine, it's not even about Javert the individual per se. It's about the entire system he represents. That system killed Fantine and Javert is its flesh and bones. Fantine was a poor girl that was exploited and let down by society in every single way and when she was herself a victim of actual physical violence, the Law, personified by Javert, instead of protecting her treated her like an animal, dehumanized her, humiliated her. The Law was scandalized that a woman like her dared attack the bourgeoisie. The Law was horrified that such a disgusting creature got medical care because she should just drop dead on her street. The Law rejoiced in tearing down her sole protector. The Law prevented her from getting her child back from the con artists that have been stealing her for years because the Law doesn't care about the crimes committed against marginalized people. That's not its function. Its function is to use its discretionary authority in order to dehumanize and punish people that ended up on the wrong side of the street.

So when you come at me with nonsense that Javert "didn't tEchNIcALLy kill Fatnine", "he was just rude", "he was just bitchy", "he just stole her final happy moments", respectfully, you don't know what you're talking about. Javert absolutely killed Fantine. He's not the only one who did but he eagerly and enthusiastically precipitated her execution, and that is the entire point Hugo is trying to make. Your arguments against it are nothing but a mere technicality that stems from the fact that the individual's actions technically do not qualify as manslaughter. It's as if we literally had an individual at court and we were thinking of whether or not to condemn him for manslaughter. It's not about that. It's not about your blorbo and his sadness. Your blorbo has a whole other function in the narrative. You have completely missed the mark of the entire book and you have let your personal emotional attachment for a character prevail over Hugo's main argument about the structural punitive violence that literally kills people. Javert being the product and the embodiment of an entire system that exceeds his individuality does not mean that, as a police officer, he's not responsible for his actions or their consequences. On the contrary, he's precisely entirely responsible for the structural violence committed against Fantine, that's what "embodiment" actually means, that's what we mean when we say that he personifies that system. Absolving Javert of his crimes goes directly against the themes of the book, because while systems operate above individuals by definition, they need those individuals to function. The system needs Javerts. Javerts are everywhere around us, yes even today and it is important to hold them accountable for their crimes. I can't believe I have to explain this tbh.

genuinely cannot emphasize enough that the damsel in distress archetype really does not exist in medieval literature the way people think it does. these ladies are really only in distress because they can’t find a knight willing to enact bloodshed for them. if anything these damsels are causing distress

one of these days i am going to get herman melville's name right on the first try. i am going to say "herman", and then i'm going to say "melville", and i'm not going to have to stop myself in the middle of "merman hellville" and start over. not today, though. but hopefully soon. maybe tomorrow.

It Has Been 0 Days Since the Last Merman Hellville Incident

at this point omelas is just a test to see whether someone understands that a thought problem is an invitation to explore the moral ramifications of difficult choices and sacrifice

“The Ones Who Walk Away From The Point of Thought Experiments” by Ursula K. Le Guin

two of my favorite illustrations from this year, both from Carmilla

so when Spider-man crawls up and down walls like a bug people praise him and call him a superhero, but when I, Count Dracula,

when internet people are like “i love gothic literature but i hate anything that discusses incest, sexual violence, oppression, misogyny, abuse, torture, gore, murder, or death”

no actually me and everyone else who’s ever watched crimson peak were brainwashed by guillermo del toro into believing that incest and violence are cool and awesome. sorry

a lot of victorians thought first-cousin marriage-- arranged by their parents--was good, actually, because the boy and girl already knew how to get along, neither party had to move too far away from their existing family, or move at all, and all the resources to inherit a business and set up a household were just, right there, in place. and the grandmother or -father of the family would definitely have good reason to approve of their grandkids staying put rather than marrying out or bringing anyone else in.

so, like, yeah, victorian literature and gothic literature has a lot to do with the ways the family unit can be imperiled, whether by rot from within or infection from without, and at the time that family unit probably had a significant amount of what we would now term incest. so like, ‘people can agree that’-- no. people are always going to disagree. sometimes because they lived a hundred and fifty years ago. sometimes because they live now and understand that cultures change over time and that nothing is ever simple and easy and universal and eternal. and sometimes because BAD THINGS CAN AND SHOULD BE DEPICTED IN FICTION BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MAKES A STORY INTERESTING, BECKY.

vintage jane austen bookcovers : pride and prejudice

an underrated detail in pride and prejudice is that elizabeth bennett was home alone on the day darcy proposed because she had a headache. can you imagine. this was in the pre-painkillers era. you're at home with a headache and then this asshole walks into the room and tells you he loves you and wants to marry you even though he hates your whole family and you're beneath him. imagine having to deal with that while also having a headache. she doesn't even have ibuprofen

being the only person in my 10th grade english class to enjoy moby dick and then a few years later tricking approximately 22,000 people into joining my 2-year moby dick internet book club is quite possibly the funniest thing i will ever do. be the change you want to see in the world etc etc

i just signed up for Whale Weekly (the moby dick version of dracula daily that for some reason is not called dick daily), please join me, i feel like I’m going to need moral support to get through this one

It starts nov 21!!

@eurphrasie​  That felt rude.  Since when is fantasy not literature?!

You know, It’s kind of fitting that It was Sir Terry Pratchett himself who answered this question in an interview, just going to paste this up real fast:

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

Have to say I agree with the man.

It’s the casual death threat for me

Rude ass interviewer who also doesn’t know what they’re talking about: “I mean, you’re obviously a clever man, so why bother with this lowly fantasy drivel.”

Sir Terry Pratchett: “I’ll break you in half like a stick.”

@vaysh11​ <3

this should be written somewhere in eighty-foot-tall letters of fire, or possibly in very tiny letters on a business-card-sized bit of paper one can hand to someone when they ask that question. Here’s your bit of paper, go away.

"Quincey John Arthur Abraham Lucy Harker, you were named after the most disfunctional polycule your mother and I ever commited multiple felonies with..."