Rivers, roads, and rails
April 9, 2011 § 2 Comments
It makes sense in my head to use this song as prelude to the actual post – it’s a song I’ve listened to for years (15, count ’em) when I’m angry and want to stay angry, in order to hone that anger to a fatally sharp point. The lyrics kick ass, and while the harmonies can be sweet these boys are pissed off and aren’t in the mood to talk it out. Love this album, love this song.
Anyway. This link from n+1 was sent along by a certain friend of ours, who shall remain nameless but whose relocation to the southern hemisphere had better be temporary or we’re all going to die.
Read it. I had so many reactions, some positive (yes, I do think that short fiction is held under the thumb of MFA programs and the rigid form required of The New Yorker and its ilk, although part of the problem is that there is no ilk because no one publishes short fiction anymore), some negative (I will cut you! Lorrie Moore only writes about cancer nowadays? Are you fucking serious? And specificity as a shortcut to nostalgia? How about specificity as the concretization of our generation’s media/consumer culture saturation and our way of representing that experience?). But mostly I was awed and inspired – yo, bitch is angry and unafraid. She takes down everyone in this article, the old masters and the young whippersnappers, and while she isn’t correct all the time or even most of the time, she is unapologetic and scathing and clear-eyed in her attack. It’s so rare to read from anyone nowadays, but certainly from a woman. She might have been listening to the Posies.