I have very strong opinions about what is good literature and what is not, and while it’s easy to describe what I think goes into good literature, explaining bad literature is more difficult. But, for some unfortunate reason, I have lately read several stories that I think are really quite bad. Even better (worse?) they are bad in the same way. That is, they are dishonest.
Let me make clear that there is a difference between an unreliable narrator and a dishonest narrator. For instance, one of the stories that triggered this post is about a guy whose life is going pretty well and then a bunch of terrible stuff happens (wife leaves him, loses his job, that kind of thing). His reaction to this is… nothing. That is, he keeps moving along as though nothing has happened and everything is a-okay. And this is a total pose. Not believable at all. And. That. Is. All. You. Get.
And that’s dishonest.
It’s dishonest because it doesn’t show us anything beyond the surface. It doesn’t engage with the reader. Quality art must engage. If art refuses to engage, if it insists on standing outside, it can’t enrich us. It can’t make us ask any question besides why we wasted time on that story in the first place.
This kind of thing is triggered, largely, by postmodernism. This story is just playful. postmodernism is playful. We’re just playing. It’s just a game. But, eventually, the game playing becomes dishonest and we tire of it. It’s like that person we all know who always has a joke but can’t get serious for long enough to actually have something to say. Whatever is going on in that person’s head might be really interesting, but as long as the artifice persists, we’ll never know. Instead, we get agitated and try not to make eye-contact. When stories start to do this, they stop being art and start being crap.
Where does poetry fit into this equation for you? I have poetry on the brain most of the time, but now that we’re tackling a poem or two a week in AP Lit it’s even worse than usual.
I think poetry is artifice, to a degree. Maybe it’s how one sees the poet’s craft as opposed to that of the short story writer’s.
I wonder if one could say a poet’s motivation is more than artifice? I don’t think I would subscribe to the theory that poetry can deceive so much as it leaves interpretation to the reader. The shadow of the prose writer’s hand always remains, however dimly, on the page. Hemingway. Faulkner. Salinger. Borges. The poet has packed his pencil and exited the building. “Here, have at this. Don’t call me if you can’t make sense of it.”
Poetry is, obviously, a different monster from fiction. I don’t necessarily buy that poets don’t need to be comprehensible, though. I have a friend/acquaintance who’s a poet (Amy Tudor if you want to look her up). I asked her to come speak to my writing classes last year and she talked a great deal about how important it is for poetry to make sense on a literal level. I agree with her wholeheartedly. Obviously, not everyone takes that view, but then, that goes a long way toward explaining why no one reads poetry any more.
If you go back just to, say, Robert Frost, you see poetry that works on multiple levels, but is also very clear on the surface level.
Personally, I have nothing but contempt for incomprehensible poetry. No matter how beautifully your words are layered, no matter how perfectly your line breaks fall, I don’t think it’s poetry if it doesn’t mean anything. I think too many contemporary poets really hide behind the “Well, you just don’t understand it,” thing. As Jason said…no wonder no one reads poetry anymore.
Should say more than artifice. Monday.
ART!
Aha, I see. HTML tags did me in. Don’t use greater than or less than signs, Mo. Sheesh.