money vs art
If art is what you're after, you have a better chance of finding it by opening a novel, says film critic Rick Groen at The Globe and Mail:
[W]hat's bad luck for the serious writer - a breed that's forever whining about their monetary troubles - is good news for the serious reader. Simply put, scant money in the pot translates into more creative freedom and less commercial pressure. Consider just the several talented Jonathans on today's scene - Coe (The Rotters' Club), Franzen (The Corrections), Saffron Foer (Everything is Illuminated) and Lethem (The Fortress of Solitude). In the several years it might take them to write a novel (discounting the time spent padding their income with teaching or journalism), they're pretty much left alone to stew in their juices. Publishers, unlike other media execs, aren't launching focus groups and market research that force their geniuses to brighten up the book's ending or lower the neckline on its heroine. They probably would if they could profit from it. But, since no one's making a boatload of money off these Jonathans anyway, each is able to engage in a prolonged solitary activity that yields an individual vision.
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I was in the City by myself today, ready to go to the Art Gallery of NSW, but got sidetracked by the annual sale at Gleebooks. By the time I'd finished and made all my purchases, I had no more cash on me (apart from $2.65 in coins, most of which I needed for the bus fare home), thereby cutting my day short. Which was probably lucky, because I didn't fancy carrying a paper bag of heavy books all the way to the gallery.
I got:
[W]hat's bad luck for the serious writer - a breed that's forever whining about their monetary troubles - is good news for the serious reader. Simply put, scant money in the pot translates into more creative freedom and less commercial pressure. Consider just the several talented Jonathans on today's scene - Coe (The Rotters' Club), Franzen (The Corrections), Saffron Foer (Everything is Illuminated) and Lethem (The Fortress of Solitude). In the several years it might take them to write a novel (discounting the time spent padding their income with teaching or journalism), they're pretty much left alone to stew in their juices. Publishers, unlike other media execs, aren't launching focus groups and market research that force their geniuses to brighten up the book's ending or lower the neckline on its heroine. They probably would if they could profit from it. But, since no one's making a boatload of money off these Jonathans anyway, each is able to engage in a prolonged solitary activity that yields an individual vision.
~
I was in the City by myself today, ready to go to the Art Gallery of NSW, but got sidetracked by the annual sale at Gleebooks. By the time I'd finished and made all my purchases, I had no more cash on me (apart from $2.65 in coins, most of which I needed for the bus fare home), thereby cutting my day short. Which was probably lucky, because I didn't fancy carrying a paper bag of heavy books all the way to the gallery.
I got:
- A very nicely illustrated Chinese food book, with lots of recipes. I've been keeping an eye out for something suitable ever since my father told me to find a Chinese cookbook that we could give his friend and colleague, JH.
- Color: The Film Reader, edited by Angela Dalle Vacche and Brian Price
- The Imaginative Structure of the City, Alan Blum