Three hours is more than enough time to make up imaginary posts in your head

[danceswithwords]

Wow, that three-hour quarterly all-hands meeting did wonders for my productivity today!

::writes frivolous, long-winded livejournal post::

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I have thoughts about

Comments

[thassalia]

Great post and discussion of the literary vs. genre thoughts. I do love literary fiction in many forms, and I strongly dislike the kind of genre that relies on plot too heavily or gets mired in conventions or world building without telling a story of people (and just ditched what looked to be a promising sci fi book for the clunkiest exposition I've read in a very long time). I love Lethem (although was hugely disappointed by Fortress of Solitude), and felt like I was going to stab myself before I finished House of Leaves, but I love what they've done as novels - warping convention utterly and changing the readers perspective on the labeling of stories. (Although truthfully, it'd be hard for Danielewski to shake the post-modern label because House of Leaves is the most post-modern piece of fiction I've ever seen:)

And I so want the new McCarthy, but I'm treating myself to the new Kate Atkinson this weekend because I want joy more:)

[danceswithwords]

the kind of genre that relies on plot too heavily or gets mired in conventions or world building without telling a story of people

That's a very good way of putting it. My last boyfriend used to try to get me to read the science fiction he liked but for the most part his enjoyment stemmed from the exploration of big ideas, and he had a hard time understanding how little that mattered to me if the writing was wooden and the characters flat.

I really liked most of Fortress of Solitude, but the music writing drove me a little nuts, and that was such a big part of the end.

And I so want the new McCarthy, but I'm treating myself to the new Kate Atkinson this weekend because I want joy more

I've heard The Road described as "darker than Blood Meridian, which is a frightening thought indeed.

[katie_m]

Jericho is the apocalypse done Lifetime movie-style. It's kind of disconcerting.

[danceswithwords]

Exactly. The mother keeps trying to give the one son and his wife marriage counseling and they are in the middle of an apocalypse and now is not the time to stop and talk about the state of your relationship!

[katie_m]

What cracked me up the most was the bartender chick--Mary?--all "so, when are you going to tell her?" Look, I'm all for life going on, but there was a nuclear war and people are a little bit stressed and busy. Hold your horses, Mary!

[vonniek]

I think one of the things that's started feeling more and more off to me about the season is the way the noir aspects of the show--particularly the layers of unofficial justice systems underlying the official structure run by Lamb, with the guilty largely escaping consequences because they're wealthy and the little people bearing the brunt--seem to be fading away.

*nods* Despite the "darkness" of Kendall's murder in the season premiere and the rape arc, it feels like show has lost a lot of its noir sensibilities. The Hearst College sadly doesn't have the same sense of place as the town of Neptune -- the sharp class and wealth divide, the pervasive atmosphere of corruption, a self-contained universe of hyperreality where a high school girl is a believably world-weary private detective. The show feels less pulpy and sort of dulled around the edges this season. It's sad-making.

I am thisclose to giving up on Jericho, except I really want to know what Hawkins is up to. But I could SO do without any more platitudes or aw-shucks heart-

[danceswithwords]

Hi! *waves back* We do seem to be watching some of the same things. Like Jericho, which is making me feel a little like I'm in an abusive relationship and every time it whips out a sickeningly sweet moment of affirmation set to bland emo pop rock, I swear that this time I'm going to leave it for good, but then it promises to show more of the creepy mysteries.

The Hearst College sadly doesn't have the same sense of place as the town of Neptune -- the sharp class and wealth divide, the pervasive atmosphere of corruption, a self-contained universe of hyperreality where a high school girl is a believably world-weary private detective.

Yes, even the color palettes seem different--in the Neptune of the past couple of seasons, the bright sunshine had a brittle quality that gave everything a slightly hard edge, and now the show looks much softer and more pastel. I can believe they need to get a grip on the college setting, but I'm concerned they don't have the time and space to do so with the network breathing down their necks.

It

[pellucid]

As I tried to comment, somewhat fumblingly, to Feldman and have been continuing to ponder and revise all day, the difference for me, despite all my literary training that would enable me to do all sorts of sophisticated analysis if I chose, seems to be which part of my brain I turn on when I read a certain kind of book. Basically, is it the sort of book I read with a pencil in my hand, or not. I love that I can read "genre" fiction curled up on the couch without a writing implement in sight; it's such a blessed escape. But even when I'm reading Kazuo Ishiguro or Ian McEwan "for fun," I can't put down the pencil, can't make my brain not do the literary critic thing

[danceswithwords]

And I have a feeling that my reactions have much more to do with the cultural apparatuses (is that right? apparati?) hanging on these novels--the labels of "genre" or "literary"--than with any particular difference in style or technique; too many years being trained to read certain kinds of books in certain ways are hard to undo.

That makes sense, and I certainly get the desire to turn off the analytical portion of the brain sometimes and just read. What I've found (and possibly this has something to do with having been out of academia for so long) is that my degree of thinkiness has become entirely unmoored from those cultural apparatuses (I think? maybe?) and depends solely on what I perceive to be the degree to which the text has layers that make me think, no matter the genre of the book.