ON ESSAY AS SLOW BURN:

"Surely, most of us can understand the difference between accessing a text and reading it, and the essay, with its flexible structure, nuanced language, and leisurely pace, is still the ideal form for slow reading."

...

"The essays chosen by these editors do not seem “dated” because the problems the writers tackled haven’t gone away (in fact, most are with us in a more serious way), and with that comes the need for even slower thinking, reading, writing, and understanding."

ON TEACHING THE ESSAY IN 2000:

"The essays I taught in 2000 are annotated in green ink. In class, I must have pointed out the writers’ strategies in story-telling and argumentation, the choices they made in style (my favorite sentences are underlined with a star next to them: I must have read them aloud in class), the evocative details they used, the sly way they managed to avoid going down narrative or ideological paths in which they might have gotten hopelessly lost, while still giving the impression that everything important has been covered. At least that’s what I assume from the notes. I can’t recall a single lesson I’d planned. I was afraid of my students because no matter what I said about the essays in the book or about the essays they wrote, no one ever seemed surprised. A few were clearly worried from time to time, but that’s not the same thing. I remember wishing that at least one student, just once or twice a semester, would allow herself or himself to appear naïve or clueless: that is to say, taken aback by some information or advice she or he didn’t already know.

...

"The culmination of the repeated journey isn’t control, sophistication, or mastery. In [Mary Gordon's] moment [in "Rome: The Visible City"] of joy, or grace, this narrator is overtaken by surprise. She is at once wise and clueless. That—I think—was what I wanted my students in 2000 to understand."

ON READING AS ETERNAL RETURN:

"Revisiting Gordon’s essay about revisiting Rome, re-reading Gass’s essay about re-reading his favorite books, I am taking a tour of my own past as well as the essays’. I can return to the pleasure of weaving and un-weaving the same cloth (the point of Penelope’s task, I remember, was NOT to finish)."

Read the rest of this wonderful essay here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Every one imaginable.

Best/Worst Verse: "Christmas is hell on earth, I know nothing worse than to be depressed and be told to be happy...Now I will say good-bye, no one will cry. Christmas goes on without me. My life is now complete, so I'll go to sleep, forever, and ever, and ever."

And now, for the season's Grand Finale...The Most. Miserable. Christmas. Song. EVER.

I just discovered the Vandals' Christmas album this year - it's perhaps the most miserable Christmas album ever, though most of the songs (like "A Gun for Christmas," or "Christmas Time for My Penis") are fairly light and jokey. Not this one: even after the song is over and the narrator has ostensibly performed the title act, you get a good two minutes of fadeout sound effects to ponder the lifeless body hanging from the symbol of everlasting life. This song probably fits into a budding subgenre a friend and I have been recently envisioning as mope porn, or maybe mopecore, notable for complete and willful immersion in the artful rendering of suffering and grief. I think this art form serves a valuable therapeutic function, especially around the holidays, of allowing a space for us to explore our darkest, most self-defeating impulses without acting on them. That, my friends, is my gift to you.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON THE ESSAY AS LEGIT LIT GENRE:

"This is, to my mind, a respectful description and an enthusiastic endorsement of the essay (at its best) as a legitimate form of literature—something all writers of creative/literary nonfiction aspire to. And I think it’s a truthful claim to say that, today, many essays and writers have achieved that status. Still, I want to remind readers that in the early 1990s, the genre was considered to be a literary stepchild of sorts."

ON GOOD STARTS:

"We all know what the landscape of literary/creative nonfiction looks like today: the wide-ranging diversity of works and writers, the growing number of blogs, online and print journals, writing contests, MFA programs, and small, independent presses that publish everything from experimental to traditional works of literary nonfiction. And some of those “notable” writers who, back then, I’d never heard of, are now among my closest teaching and writing colleagues. Plus, some are considered to be amongst our very best writers of literary/creative nonfiction."

Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Wistful nostalgia, sincere and mature regret

Best/Worst Verse: "And I'm sitting, sitting on the top of the stairs and you're crying out on the towpath by the river with all the swans and all the people walking by. And all of a sudden I'm stuck with an urge to unlock a door with a key that's too big for my hands, and I drop it, and it falls at your feet. Come on, come on, it's there at your feet."

I can sincerely say that no song gets me closer to that sob lurking at the back of my throat than this one. I think of it almost like a Lydia Davis story - a few physical but not too specific images placed aligned with each other, collaborating for the sole purpose of breaking your damn heart. Almost every triplet stanza of this song is its own memory-world, open to each of us, there at our feet.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON TIME AND THE OBVIOUS FOR AMERICAN ESSAYS WRITTEN IN 2001:

"This BAE edition is obsessed with time.  Although each edition of the BAE is distinguished by its moment, this BAE seems more interest in pointing out the difference between the past and present. It seems intent on focusing on what has gone wrong in the now and what we have lost from the then. It is a collection of essays that, written in the year that the twin towers fell, are uncertain whether there will be a future, perhaps not even a present, we must eulogize the past."

ON TIME AND THE WORLD AFTER 2001:

"It’s not quite that terrorism has brought us together (there is no ‘us’ except in that they are also us) but that terrorism, or terror, wraps around the globe as warmly as carbon dioxide does."

ON BAE2002 AS BOOKMARK:

"The BAE doesn’t always function as a placeholder for the very year. It doesn’t always function as a slice of the American brain as featured on an MRI. But this edition marks a distinction between what was and what might be. Not knowing what might be, it hides under the covers of what once was.

...

"I wondered about not only the way this edition had been selected and organized but also how in 13 years, how I understood the essay differently, the 9/11 attacks differently, the importance of diversity differently. It’s a bit programmatic but still a glimpse, MRI-like, into a slice of this edition’s brain."

...And the second half: ANOTHER FOUND ESSAY CULLED FROM FAVORITE LINES!!! Read the whole thing here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON GAWKER VS. BAE2012 EDITOR DAVID BROOKS:

"I love reading the BAE series; each year’s edition sits wrapped under my Christmas tree, each essay within, its own nested gift. But I also love reading Gawker. The site brews my cynicism and outrage (the instant coffees of emotions) and inspires my inclinations towards social activism, while allowing me to remain entirely passive and procrastinatory. It seduces me and so this is my problem: Gawker really, really doesn’t like David Brooks. And so I’ve found, neither do I.

...

"But it also seems worth noting that the attributes on which the website most frequently wants to skewer Brooks—that he’s a bit of a gasbag who populates his writing with truisms and frames his social science with off-the-cuff stories instead of actual data—are the very qualities which we praise the essayist for possessing: the anecdotal, the digressive, the carefree lack of expertise.

...

"And in his analysis of the halcyon years of the mid-20th century American essay, Brooks notes 'the best essays…had lost the pomposity while retaining some grandeur and scope. They were rigorous without being narrow and academic. They were polemical without being partisan. They were countercultural without being sloppy. They were reckless but also learned.' Try aligning that—'countercultural without being sloppy'—with Gawker’s content, and you can score a point for Brooks."

ON THE ESSAYIST AS FRIEND:

"I love the idea of the essayist as friend and conversationalist dispensing anecdotal knowledge, and I love the essayist writing for a we, because after all a you is just trying to reach an I and we’re in this together. But sometimes I wonder what friendly conversationalists might hide. For the world also contains false friends and I grow suspicious of essays that pat me paternally on the shoulders and tell me they know what’s good for me. "

ON THE ESSAYIST AS LOVER:

"Here's Doty again: 'When you have a lot of sex, sex becomes increasingly less narrative.' If that’s true, why can’t it also be the case for when we have a lot of essays? "

Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Decision, indecision, orphany, psychoanalysis

Best/Worst Verse:"Jenny made her mind up when she was three - she herself was going to trim the Christmas tree. Christmas Eve she lit the candles, tossed the taper away. Little Jenny was an orphan on Christmas Day.

"Poor Jenny! Bright as a penny! Her equal would be hard to find. She lost one dad and mother, a sister and a brother, but she would make up her mind."

So begins the saga of Jenny, an orphan prodigy whose life is filled with adventure and indecision - learning 27 languages, mistressing with 30 or more husbands in different states, mediating between the Roosevelt administration and Latin America, writing her tell-all memoirs at 51, deciding at 75 to become the oldest woman alive, and dying at 76. Is this story of the travails of a Christmas orphan the saddest ever told, or the happiest? I just can't decide!

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Loneliness, incarceration, drug abuse, self-delusion, being broke

Best/Worst Verse: "Hey Charley, for chrissakes, if you want to know the truth of it, I don't have me a husband, he don't play the trombone. I got to borrow money to pay this lawyer, and Charley, hey - I'll be eligible for parole come Valentine's Day."

Yet another American standard from the pen of Tom Waits, as sung by one of the finest voices of the 21st Century. One of my favorite things Neko Case has ever said was in the autobio on her old website: "As I grew into a young adult I was very confused and lacked direction. My parents very much wanted me to become a crack-whore, but I gravely disappointed them by graduating from college." Neko recorded this song in 1999, on the cusp of of widespread acclaim, and I sometimes think of it in context of the narrative of her developing art. Perhaps this is the voice of the child she thought her parents always wanted.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON NEGATIVE CAPABILITY AND THE COCKTAIL PARTY ANALOGY IN MY PERSONAL FAVORITE BAE VOLUME:

"An essay doesn’t have to answer the question it asks. Maybe it doesn’t even ask a question. (I usually find essays that don’t have answers are the most interesting.) Some of the essays Oliver has selected provide possible answers; some don’t, happy to embrace beautiful, heartbreaking uncertainty. Oliver also imagines the essay as “a party to which all subjects are invited: humor, pathos remembrance, declaration, emotions, religious belief, the natural world.” The essays collected here reflect such a party, a rich gathering of subjects and writers, questions raised, questions considered."

ON THE FIRST PARAGRAPH OF GREGORY ORR'S "RETURN TO HAYNESVILLE":

"Now, I am an editor and thus strive to be a patient reader. I practice yoga to, among other reasons, become even more patient. But I confess that I adore a paragraph like this, one that requires no patience, that wastes no time and is nearly a complete story in itself." [Not surprisingly, she likes the rest of the piece too. It's without a doubt one of the best of The Best American Essays.]

Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON MALE-NESS:

"What I mean is. John Turturro in Barton Fink. Michael Keaton in Birdman. The boy in the man who is ever what he was. Who LP’s Sticky Fingers or Blonde on Blonde with unclogged reverence. Boys in men other men admire. Who reel highlights, who wash-and-wield a Buick 6, who used to be, if not are, some woman’s used-to-be. Those literary varietals—the stooge incarnate or the male ingénue. Whose sense of self comes at the boy’s behest.

Such is the evidence of several macho-laced essays from 1995...

...

"The reason I may not have recognized male disclosure as liberation then (and the opposite, a codpiece exhibitionism) is I didn’t have the experience of my being the experience of my writing. It took twenty years of authoring to see my gender’s potential for intimacy—and its lack—whether in my essays or those of others. How transparent it is to me now. How utterly seen-through."

ON WILLIAM H. GASS'S WELL-DOCUMENTED SCORN FOR MEMOIR:

"What’s further bedeviling about Gass’s arrogance is that a) virtually no one supports his literary extremism and b) he couldn’t even imagine the memoirist’s esthetic. He doesn’t understand the primal urge to memoir—that authors make books in which their unknowing, their tentativeness and trials with “telling the truth,” becomes the narrative drama.

...

"He’s hyper-allegiant to classic literary forms. It’s a claim that we writers, so severely clubbed by our forebears, in Gass’s view, should know better than to bypass Chaucer’s humor, to forgo Ezra Pound’s dictum that only the French troubadours are worth studying, to think our religious lives must be begin and end with the Bible. Such edifices will crumble—if we let them."

ON JOHN EDGAR WIDEMAN AND THE EVER-PRESENT:

"...for despair to be in the writing, it must be in the writer while he essays."

Just a really great piece of literary and self-critique. Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Lying to one's children, one's children lying to their children, one's children's children lying to their children, et cetera, ad nauseam until someone's children realize how many parents have lied to them

Best/Worst Verse: "They sold me a dream of Christmas, they sold me a silent night. They told me a fairy story, 'til I believed in the Israelite. And I believed in Father Christmas and I looked to the sky with excited eyes. And I woke with a yawn at the first light of dawn, and I saw him and through his disguise."

This past weekend, my mom let loose on me one of her Great Regrets: "I wish hadn't ever let you believe in Santa Claus. I never liked going along with that. I always felt like I was lying to you. And it never seemed like you believed me anyway." My adult self held his tongue when I wanted to immediately respond, "But you still want me to believe that an Israelite who was tortured and killed 2,000 years ago is still upset with me for not believing in him either?" But we've already had this conversation, too many times. Instead, I went home and listened to this song.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Generational poverty, playing Santa Claus in a department store, being mugged by a pack of feral boys

Best/Worst Verse: "But give my daddy a job 'cause he needs one, he's got lots of mouths to feed. But if you've got one I'll have a machine gun, so I can scare all the kids on the street."

If the poor black kids of "Santa Claus, Go Straight to the Ghetto" are positively begging for a visit from the fat white man, the poor white kids aren't nearly so gracious. This and David Sedaris's great essay on playing a Macy's elf serve to expose the seedy underbelly of the department store Santa trade. 

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON A WORD I'D SOMEHOW NEVER HEARD BEFORE READING IT HERE:

"Can something still be a uchronia if I lived through it personally?

...

"There are many reasons that I actively work against my own tendency toward nostalgia, the tendency that makes me at times daydream of the early 1990s as a sort of queer political uchronia instead of the actual, messy, fucked up political time-space that it was. One of them is the simple fact that nostalgia in this way prevents us from seeing the past for what it was, or as accurately for what it was as is possible with the divide of time. That has always been clear enough to me. But the other reason, which took me considerably longer to understand, is that nostalgia for the past further prevents us from developing the literary/political/survival tools that are necessary for the present."

ON BAE1992 GUEST EDITOR SUSAN SONTAG:

"She was queer and thought about art and she loved essays, and she had a lot of politics with which I agree, and she also fucked up all the time and said things I find problematic, just as I also am queer (or whatever) and think about art and love essays and fuck up all the time and say things that I later find problematic."

ON PRIMARY VS. SECONDARY SOURCES:

"There’s an essay on pornography and the concept of liberty that managed to bore me out of it and into just streaming pornography instead..."

ON THE VOLUME ITSELF:

"The easier thing would be to discount some of the anthology and celebrate the parts of it that I want to celebrate, but this is a disservice, like when we call something a hybrid rather than letting all of its components exist as a contradictory whole.

...

"If the essay is so invested in the world and in history, as so many writers in this collection claim, then there’s really no excuse for the most boring of these essays, talking endlessly about Hamlet, essays where boring doesn’t just mean boring but instead limited, instead conservative, instead stifling, instead damaging."

Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Holy moly, this is really one of the best yet, a real maze of time and history. I'm cutting out slices from just one perspective, but there is so much more here. Read the rest!

ON BEING A WRITER IN 1979:

"'What’s an "MLA?"' I asked. The person I was asking was William Baer, a graduate student poet in The Writing Seminars of Johns Hopkins University. He stood in my office doorway. I was nearing the end of the first semester of my year as a lecturer there. Bill, who was older than I though a year behind me in the program, had asked me, 'Going to the MLA?' In 2013, Bill retired from the Creative Writing Department of the University of Evansville where he had taught for nearly 25 years. 'The MLA,' he said, 'is where you go to interview for creative writing jobs.' I did not know then what an MLA was. I had no idea, then, that there was a way to get a job teaching creative writing."

ON BEING A WRITER IN 1984:

"I return to Johns Hopkins in 1984. I visit the current seminar class, gave a reading. I ask my former teacher, John Barth, how things are going. In four short years the number of creative writing programs has grown from two dozen to over one hundred. I have been teaching at Iowa State University those four years, growing a graduate program, an MA, so as not to conflict with Iowa’s MFA program down the road. In the last four years, Iowa State has hired four new writers—Steve Pett, Jane Smiley, David Milofsky, and Mary Swander—adding to a staff of five already there. 'It is more and more difficult to attract students,' Jack tells me. I ask him where they are going. 'To Syracuse,' he says, 'to work with Raymond Carver and Tobias Wolff.'"

ON THE BEST AMERICAN ESSAYS in 1986:

"Michaela Sullivan, an in-house graphic designer for Houghton Mifflin...shows us the new powerful Apple computer in her office and the tools onboard that allow her to create the covers and page layouts. She shows me the cover of a new annual series—Best American Essays—published under the Ticknor and Fields imprint in a boxed set with the established series of Best American Stories."

ON BEING A WRITER IN 1992:

"What was a writer anyway? The greater culture seemed to be moving to clearly define the role through certification, an MFA degree and course of study, though neither one of us had the papers our students would soon possess. As I idle and thrum at high, pidgins circle the obelisk, dive bomb the crumbs scattered on the adjoining plaza. We conclude that we are the last or maybe the first of an old order or a new phylum, the schooled writer, the writing school."

ON BEING A WRITER IN 1995:

"I can only access the World Wide Web from a machine in my office at school. Every house in Syracuse, it seems, had a typewriter, and everyone seems, overnight, not to need them anymore. What to do with the old machines? Take them to the curb. Over time, I bring a few of the carcasses home with me. Walking the streets looking through the heaps for a new model, a different color, a better box, I see a few others scavenging. I tell myself the surplus would be for parts if nothing else, unable to image writing without a typewriter in the uncertain future."

ON BEING A WRITER IN 2000:

"John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction, published in 1983 had been wired into workshops and emphasized transparency and unselfconscious storytelling. This aesthetic insists that a text not call attention to itself, that it create a sustained dream. Its conventions are clear and teachable as craft, and its message coincides with the rapid and vast expansion of writing programs. Ironically, the principle of transparency becomes enforced at the very moment that the machine writers use to compose their writing becomes expansive and expressive. Writers in workshops are encouraged to rig their powerful typesetting machines, now connected to the Internet, to produce finished copy that looks exactly like the product of an early 20th Century typewriter. E. J. Levy is in the class, composing prose from prompts of paint sample strips, photo booth photos, and other graphic interruptions. The time is ripe."

ON BEING A WRITER IN 2001:

"There is a great unease with the complicated communities the great sorting engine of the university tolerates. Writers, I think, think of themselves sometimes as individual agents, unique, original but at the same time long for inclusion, connection."

ON BEING A WRITER IN THE BEST AMERICAN ESSAYS IN 2005:

"The Best American Essays of 2005 is an anniversary issue, the 20th, and the series editor, Robert Atwan, looks backward to the book’s inception in 1986. I consider my contribution, 'Contributor’s Note,' the only time I have ever appeared, to be a fictive essay. I was surprised that it was considered. The piece, in the form of a contributor’s note, traces the biography of a 'Michael Martone' and his life performing public readings of his own work or attending similar literary readings by others in the vast network of creative writing programs and conferences that have emerged in the preceding twenty years. As the piece of writing attempts to defamiliarize the author’s note, the whole volume makes me re-see the history of creative writing program culture. My whole life turns strange for me. In order for a life to have meaning, one must get outside of that life to see what matters in all the stuff that happened. The memoirist, I think, often draws a closed parenthesis, simulates a death, so that the time before can begin making a sense. Think my junior year abroad. Think my childhood. The book for me draws such a parenthesis. I can look back over the cultural shifts and aesthetic arguments I lived through and survived. The 2005 edition also balances on an edge of another era, marking, perhaps, the moment the essay was changing. In what way would the essay and its practitioners enter into an academic setting as the new discipline there—'creative nonfiction.'"

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

What a Sunday afternoon treat! I especially love Morano's descriptions of her family and her marginalia, both of which remind me of my own. (I say this on a Sunday afternoon in bed with my copy of BAE2015 lying to one side of me and my feverish three-year-old sleeping on the other.)

ON THE VOLUME:

"2008. Dark-grey cover with a light grey band at the top. A wrinkled spine and pen marks on every page. How is that possible, I wonder now. Who reads an anthology cover to cover?

ON HER 2008-SELF IN THIRD PERSON:

"Back in the apartment, after the final feeding and the bath and the lotion and powder, after stuffing the five-month-old sausage legs into cotton pajamas that zip to the chin, they dance. The baby loves Lori McKenna’s 'Bible Song,' the up-tempo and slight twang of her crooning about the urge to flee a small-town world. The man holds the baby in one arm and the woman in the other and they sway, dipping their knees, the baby smiling as he looks from face to face. When they get to the verse about the cousin who killed himself, leaving two kids behind, tears fill the woman’s eyes. But she doesn’t stop singing and they don’t stop dancing and she thinks that this is what it means to be a family: anything can happen. The future has thin edges that, if handled the wrong way, can cut to the bone.

...

"Later she will think of these months in Madrid as very happy and, at the same time, very sad, a period when the future was daunting and, at the same time, filled with hope. In the face of all that contradiction, what else could she have done but continue to call that disconnected number, continue to rock and wipe and walk and dance, to wait and withstand, to take notes and to read, above all to read, as if every word on every page were a tiny yawp of prayer."

ON REREADING A GREAT SENTENCE FRAGMENT:

"The back of my neck constricts, just below the hairline, and I feel I’ve been here before, with this same response to these same words. But is that true? Am I remembering reading them, remembering being moved, or am I simply moved anew in a familiar, pleasing way?"

And there's so much more! Read the rest here.

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

ON TIMELESSNESS AND PLACELESSNESS:

"Best or not best, American or not American, essay or not essay, 1988 or 1841—I don’t really care, I just want to read someone like Simic who dreams, reads, thinks, remembers, and speaks for himself, especially if that self is refractory and drawn to the impossible."

It's ultra-short, so I'm not going to quote any more. Read the rest here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Various stages in the life and death of Christ

Best/Worst Verse: "Father up above, why in all this hatred do you fill me up with love?"

Few Christmas stories are as depressing and sad and hopeful and soul-destroying as the birth and death of Jesus Christ. Like Spotlight on Christmas from last year's Miserable Twelve, this song begins with the incredibly depressing story of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as political refugees from the murderous and tyrannical King Herod, lending further support (as if any was necessary) that it is un-Christian to deny sanctuary to Syrian refugees fleeing the murderous and tyrannical Bashar Al-Assad.

No song of the Christ's torment would be complete with the passion; Matthews speculates further on Christ's famous last words while bleeding out from his wrists and feet, "Father why hast thou forsaken me?":

"I came to shed a little light on this darkening scene
Instead I fear I spill the blood of my children all around."

If the story of Christ's birth and death were not enough to solidify the holiday bearing his name as domain of the miserable, he spent his life with the very people populating most of the other songs on this list, "less than golden-hearted drinkers and jokers, all soul searchers." Perhaps it's this search that makes us miserable. If so then suffering on Christmas is ordained, holy, sacred.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor

IN A DOZEN MIC DROPS:

"...Houghton Mifflin rolled the dice and launched BAE, publishing it as a Ticknor & Fields book. The imprint dated from the early 19th century. It was the house that published Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, and Henry David Thoreau, essayists who, as one wag put it, parted their names in the middle. "

"When BAE was launched in 1986 as a Ticknor & Fields book, there was an air of lavender still hanging about the essay."

"Gay Talese’s introduction to the 1987 collection...was largely an extended retelling of the story of writing 'Frank Sinatra Has a Cold'...itself an extended re-telling of the story of Talese trying to get an interview with Sinatra, making this introduction meta-meta. It read as a paean for a New Journalism that even in 1987 was no longer new."

"Pfaff’s parenthetical jab is snobbery disguised as a critique of snobbery..."

"Epstein’s self-satisfied opening line reveals what he does and doesn’t know about economic class: 'Karl, Friedrich, forgive me, fellas, for never having taken much interest in your class struggle, but the truth is that for the better part of my live I have been a bit unclear about what class I myself belong to.' If were to hazard a guess, Joe, I’d say 'petit bourgeois intellectual.'"

"It is you and I, Gentle Reader, and I suspect that we, like Joseph Epstein, are petit bourgeois intellectuals, or at least, kissing cousins to petit bourgeois intellectuals."

"The label 'middle-class' itself obfuscates. Americans prefer it to more precise descriptors such as 'working-class,' 'petit bourgeois,' or 'capitalist.'...For us, it is disgraceful to say you’re lower class, distasteful to say you’re upper class. Such denial has long been part and parcel of American exceptionalism but it served the Reagan Era especially well.'

"The New Yorker...had always juxtaposed celebrity profiles with hand-wringing liberalism, ads for good scotch and fur coats with cartoons that poked fun at the people who wore the furs and sipped the cocktails, but it was in the 1980s that such self-deprecation soured into self-hatred, and a novel that starred a New Yorker fact-checker on a cocaine binge became a bestseller."

"On the most base level, New Journalism had resulted from a Midtown squabble among Esquire, The New Yorker, and the New York Magazine (formerly the Sunday supplement of the New York Herald Tribune) over the same advertising accounts."

"New Journalism had always been about the cross-pollination of nonfiction by fiction so it made sense that Talese’s volume of BAE would include novelists such as Dunne and Stone. (For partisans of the fourth genre, this choice always suggests that our inferiority complex is right. Essays can be written by fiction writers, real writers, with their left hand.)"

"Perhaps Talese admired Lopate’s piece on its own terms, perhaps they knew each other (though the East Side is further from Brooklyn than one might think), or perhaps Atwan, a fellow Montaignean, pushed for it; in any case, it stands out as more essayistic, more personal, more forward-looking than much of the rest of the volume. It foreshadows the renaissance of the essay that was about to come."

AND FINALLY, THE EXTENDED, ESSAY-ENDING MIC DROP:

"We ended up at the University of Iowa, precisely at the dawn of the essay renaissance the 1987 BAE foreshadowed. Carl Klaus was transforming the old expository writing program of literary criticism and composition theory into a program that focused exclusively on literary nonfiction. He brought Sanders and Lopez in for readings, and Patricia Hampl and Carol Bly for semester-long workshops. We read Montaigne and Bacon, Orwell and Baldwin, Didion and Mairs. We formed study groups and read each other’s stuff. It felt like we were riding a wave that was about to crest.

"Then Lopate’s anthology came out. The Atwan and Oates anthology came out. The John D’Agata anthologies came out. Fourth Genre, River Teeth, and Creative Nonfiction were launched. The Digital Revolution arrived, bringing Brevity and Assay with it. Where once Iowa was one of just a few graduate programs in nonfiction in the country; now there are almost 200. Robin Hemley introduced the NonfictioNow conference. No one longs for the good old days of New Journalism anymore, Elizabeth and I have (almost) raised our two daughters, BAE is in its thirtieth year, and the wave doesn’t seem to have crested."

Read the whole thing here!

Posted
AuthorJohn Proctor