Category Archives: Michael Chabon

The Professor of Introductions

Accidentally I’ve been reading a lot of Michael Chabon. He slipped an introduction into a 50-year-old book on Vikings that I read, and he offered the preface to a 40-year-old book of Norse myths that I received as a gift. The dude likes Vikings, apparently. So do I. But I didn’t realize I’d have to go through Michael Chabon—author of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, of all people—to find them.

Of course there’s a tradition of classic books receiving critical introductions by expert scholars. I have an Oxford edition of A Sentimental Journey by Laurence Sterne at my desk, to pull a random example. It’s been edited, with an introduction and notes, by Ian Jack, Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Cambridge, and Tim Parnell, lecturer in English at Goldsmith’s College, University of London. They sound like worthy fellows—partly because I’ve never heard of them. I don’t expect to recognize the names of the literary experts who specialize in the second-best book by the author of Tristram Shandy. Do you?

And yet my copy of D’Aulaires’ Book of Norse Myths is introduced by one of the most notable authors of our time. (I don’t even know who d’Aulaire is.) Michael Chabon isn’t offering a critical exegesis. In his introduction to the other book—The Long Ships by Frans Gunnar Bengtsson—he reflects on how a dear aunt gave him The Long Ships when he was a boy, and he’s loved it ever since. It’s not an introduction so much as a gushing, 1,176-word blurb. See for yourself—it’s posted at The Paris Review.

All I’m saying is, Michael Chabon is branding himself. He’s the Viking guy, among other things. Just like Jonathan Lethem, who provides the introduction to A Meaningful Life by J. L. Davis, is the Brooklyn guy. And Jonathan Franzen, who translated and introduced Spring Awakening, is the German literature guy. You could have guessed as much by reading each author’s work. But they’re reinforcing their brands by putting their stamp on other people’s work, too. Often it’s a fairly weak stamp—just a note to say the famous author has been here before you. And it doesn’t seem to matter that the books they’re endorsing don’t sell nearly as many copies as their own work. It’s branding, baby.

But I would have read these Viking books anyway, with or without the author of The Mysteries of Pittsburgh to approve them. And I kind of wish they started with an introduction by Olaf Olaffson, Professor Emeritus of Skaldic Poetry at the University of Svalbard, you know?

- Brian Hurley

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Filed under Hooray Fiction!, Jonathan Franzen, Jonathan Lethem, Michael Chabon

WHERE DOES MY MONEY GO? McSweeney’s Issue 33

Is McSweeney’s the Google of the literary realm? Google was founded as a search engine, but after revolutionizing that part of the industry, it felt compelled to cross over and show us a thing or two about maps, phones, operating systems, libraries, etc. If these projects hadn’t turned out so well, we’d probably describe Google as a bully—a smart, self-righteous, service-minded bully. McSweeney’s started out as a literary magazine, but it now includes a web site, a non-fiction magazine, a film magazine on DVD, centers for education, charity projects in foreign countries, and books. For their latest trick, the folks at McSweeney’s have decided to save the newspaper industry—or at least, toss out a bunch of ideas for saving the newspaper industry, and see what sticks.

McSweeney’s Issue 33 takes the form of a big Sunday newspaper, complete with long-form journalism, a comics section, a sports section, activities for kids, and so on. Its stated goal is to “remind readers of all the things a printed newspaper can do.”

Since the idea behind these WHERE DOES MY MONEY GO? posts is that I’ll compare the value of the magazine to its price tag, I’ll go ahead and say this flat out: the list price of $16 is a bargain for McSweeney’s Issue 33. All told, the newspaper contains hundreds of thousands of words. It’s like buying your quarterly literary fix in economy size, from Costco.

Some of my favorite pieces:

– Andrew Sean Greer on NASCAR

– a full-color chart in the food section that illustrates the slaughter of a lamb

– new fiction by George Saunders

– new fiction by Deb Olin Unferth

– a side-by-side comparison of elegant movie posters and the awful DVD covers that they become

– China Mieville on post-apocalypse movies

– Michelle Tea on her personal witch

Check out that excerpt from the Andrew Sean Greer article. It’s one of the best things I’ve read lately, and it shows how quality writing can make a project like McSweeney’s Issue 33 a joy to read.

So the magazine is a bargain. But whether it accomplishes its mission is another question entirely. There’s an awful lot of junk in these hundreds of thousands of words. The longer articles are often hasty, diary-style accounts of something the author was already engaged in when the newspaper came along. Stephen King shares his thoughts on the World Series. William T. Vollmann rehashes the time he spent in Imperial County, which is the subject of his latest book. A woman from Oakland writes about her trip to Antarctica. Great. But are these stories newsworthy?

As it expands, McSweeney’s is becoming a “big tent” party, where all manner of voices are welcome and everyone gets their chance at the microphone. That’s noble. But it also makes you wonder if McSweeney’s is doing much editing these days. You know editing, right? Carefully selecting the best material and shaping it into something compact that’s worth your reader’s time? There’s a scene in Wonder Boys, by Michael Chabon, where a novelist realizes that his latest project is stalled out because he hasn’t been able to make any choices about what to remove from his massive, 1,000-page manuscript. And there’s an essay by Michael Chabon in this issue, about some band that he likes; it probably should have been cut. Same goes for the transcript of a previous interview between Dave Eggers and Junot Diaz, which sounds like an infomercial for all the parties involved.

DE: You live in Boston, and we have a non-profit up there, 826 Boston, modeled after our program here in the Mission. And a former student of mine went to school out there and took one of your classes at MIT. He later convinced you to work with what was then not even a non-profit yet—we were starting to form it—but he got you to come and speak at a high school called English High School. It’s a big public high school that keeps getting knocked down, threatening to be closed for lack of funding, and they get some really bad press, and the students were feeling really kind of beat down, and you came in and spoke. Do you remember that?

JD: Yes, of course.

There’s even a short story by James Franco, for God’s sake. James Franco, the actor. It’s called, “The Actor Prepares,” and it begins like this: “The Actor prepares. He is preparing for a scene. He is backstage at acting class.”

Come on.

If it sounds like I’m just carping about stuff I dislike, I apologize. What I mean to say is that if McSweeney’s wants to “remind readers of all the things a printed newspaper can do,” then half the battle is just printing the damn newspaper and showing that it can be done. At this, the McSweeney’s newspaper succeeds. It’s beautiful to see and fun to hold. But the other half the battle is selecting stories that are worth the newsprint, and here the issue stumbles. Nobly, understandably, inevitably, it stumbles. Take this as a metaphor for the whole thing: there’s a fold-out activity, designed by Chris Ware, that lets you cut out a model spaceship and paste it together. It’s a wonderful touch. You look at it and go, “Wow, I can’t believe they actually did this.” But trust me, you don’t want to try and assemble this thing. The instructions are vague, the pieces don’t line up well, and it took me about 50 minutes of careful work. The cut-out spaceship looks great on paper, but you’re better off leaving it there.

A broader goal of Issue 33 is to show the newspaper industry that it’s possible to remain vital and fiscally solvent in a digital age. But the McSweeney’s newspaper doesn’t quite exist in the real world. It’s a work of love, created by an editorial staff that had months to prepare, and a vast network of famous contributors willing to work cheap. On the first day it was sold, Issue 33 cost $5, even though the cost per unit amounted to almost $8. McSweeney’s could afford to do this because they still had three more months in which Issue 33 would be the only issue they were selling, and it would cost a full price of $16. Plus, it goes on the McSweeney’s backlist for all eternity. Real newspapers—the ones McSweeney’s is trying to set an example for—don’t operate this way.

What are we going to do with you, McSweeney’s!

Read you, I guess. Even if it doesn’t save the world this time, there’s some quality stuff in the latest issue. We’ll be like my grandma, browsing the newspaper with scissors in our hands, clipping the best pieces and saving them to read again.

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Filed under "Non-fiction", Bad Fiction, Hooray Fiction!, McSweeney's Nasal Congestion, Michael Chabon, where does my money go, William T. Vollmann

“Back in my day…”

 Back in my day

Everything about this essay by Michael Chabon makes us gag.

Yes, we realize it’s from an upcoming collection of essays, called Manhood for Amateurs, about being a father, husband, etc., so it’s bound to include some misty-eyed recollections of childhood. Still, it seems to infantilize the whole practice of reading and writing. Can we honestly draw such a direct line from the proverbial boy exploring the woods to the endlessly complex enterprise of literature? Chabon seems to be governed here by nostalgia. Real childhood is never this much like Calvin and Hobbes, except in the minds of adults who are desperately trying to re-create it. For God’s sake: he actually references a Matt Groening cartoon strip that clearly rips off those old panels from The Family Circus, where Billy is chasing a dotted line across his neighborhood! Sure, that stuff makes the old graybeards chuckle and blow bubbles in their drool, but try finding a kid who recognizes his own experience in the joke. Chabon ends the essay with a pat, rhetorical question worthy of a Fox News broadcast—something about how literature, stories, and adventure are all going to die. Did we really give this guy a Pulitzer? Maybe we should have asked him to write screeds for Andy Rooney instead. Sheesh, as soon as we declare a guy has joined the ranks of the Old Guard, he really starts acting the part.

Does being a parent mean you expect your kids to enjoy the kinds of books—The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, The Railway Children, and Peanuts are all mentioned by Chabon—that you retroactively associate with your own idealized version of childhood? We maintain that the most insightful writer of books for children was Roald Dahl, whose stories entertain even as they implore children to acknowledge their own willfulness and scheming, and stop pretending they’re the little angels mommy and daddy make them out to be.

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Filed under "Non-fiction", Fighting Words, Michael Chabon