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I am physically unable to walk away from a conversation about literature. I am a chronic addict, and no matter what help or advice I have received to beat it, I cannot quit. I have always been mildly aware of this fact, but at three A.M. last night it became painfully clear. I had to get up early. I had work to do. I was tired, and my body was running on ungodly amounts of coffee, but like some Pavlovian dog, my common sense was over run by the bell ring of literature.
The whole thing began as what should have been nothing more than a simple transaction. I was stopping by a friend’s apartment to exchange short stories for review. Somehow along the way we decided that this wasn’t enough, and that we would stay up all night discussing each other’s work, critiquing and as always, exchanging ideas about literary theory. The theory that dominated the evening’s discussion was an odd one, and in truth I don’t know if it can actually be called a “literary theory.” If it is, it seems the simplest theory I have ever encountered, and probably the most difficult to actually pull of. Honesty. Pure, painful, raw nerved honesty. The ability to take the most intimate, painful, hidden parts of your life that you would prefer to hide under a rock, and write about them openly. In other words, write what you know. She decided that she would confront me on this issue. -So, why do you hide behind theory in all of your writing? Why don’t you write about things that you’ve actually lived and experienced? It would come across more authentic if you did. – Do I hide behind theory? I have never honestly thought of it as “hiding” though I admit that I have a penchant for the abstract in fiction. I have always justified this to myself with several major excuses: A. I was raised, and have lived the majority of my life, in the upper middle class. Though I, like anyone who lives long enough, have experienced loss, love, death, pain, and all those other things that make our life tediously interesting, they would still be from the point of view of an upper middle class person. "The Catcher in The Rye" was already written some fifty years ago, and if I read about one more book that is called the “Catcher in the Rye for the new Generation” I will promptly shoot myself. Go To Page: 1 2
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