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Tag: fiction

Pub Thoughts #3 (Or A Wider Discussion on Criticism, Honesty And All That Kind Of Stuff When It Comes To Writing)

Outside a 1930s style pub there is a massive inflatable Valentine's display. The centrepiece is a huge teddy bear holding a heart that has written on it "Fucking Love You"

Boak and Bailey wrote recently about honesty in writing about pubs and beer. It is for Patreon subscribers only, but it is well worth subscribing to them if you have any interest at all in the subject matter. I won’t quote from it, as it is behind a paywall and that doesn’t seem fair, but I will say it gave me plenty to think about – not just in terms of writing about pubs and beer, but in writing about anything

I think all writing needs to be honest on some kind of fundamental and foundational level. Even fiction. If there isn’t some kind of capital-T Truth to writing then what is the point? It just becomes something empty, an attempt to please or a parlour game or just a means to some other end. Readers can sniff out inauthenticity, and if there is no honesty to the writing then the whole thing falls apart. I think this is one reason why AI writing is so unsatisfying, and basically offensive. There’s no humanity to it. It is just a Magic Guessing Machine giving you an approximation of what it has calculated you want to read. If nobody could be bothered to write it, I can’t be bothered to read it.

I believe that writing, or at least writing worth caring about, is a form of deep communication between writer and reader, a form of humanity in a world that often seems to lack it. Honesty is a key component in making that connection. Truly “bad” writing is when that attempt at connection is absent. Technically bad writing can still survive if there’s kind of humanity lurking underneath. I’d much rather read a failed attempt at Truth than technically perfect heartless prose.

However, when it comes to any form of criticism (be it of pubs and beer or music, books, theatre, sport) I think it gets a little more complex. Behind the pub or album or book is a human being, or several human beings, who were more likely than not trying their best. Where is the humanity in making them feel bad for their efforts? But then where is the honesty in only saying nice things?

I suppose this an ethical dilemma for anyone undertaking criticism, from the broadsheet book reviewer through to the person leaving a bad Google review about a restaurant. Is it fair to potentially put someone’s livelihood at risk, just because you didn’t like what they did? Should you demoralise someone and put them off their efforts just because they weren’t to your taste?

There is the risk of the writer just conducting an “Owl review”. I can’t find the original article on this, but it is the act of essentially criticising something for not doing what you want it to do, even if that wasn’t the intention of the originator. So, for example, criticising a book for not having enough owls when that was not something the author was setting out to do, just because you like owls. There’s definitely plenty of this in pub writing – most pub writers have a good idea of their Ideal and when a place doesn’t meet that Ideal it is easy to criticise it, even if the place is attempting to do something quite different.

It is fundamentally more difficult to write a negative review than a positive one. Enthusiasm is a great impetus to writing. Revenge might provide a similar thrust, but generally leads to less worthwhile results. If something is quote-unquote “bad” it needs a whole lot more context than explaining why something is quote-unquote “good”. Outside of reviewing just plain obviously terrible stuff or conducting a hatchet job, a reviewer needs to set out why something didn’t succeed, to be constructive, to illustrate their own viewpoint or if they can’t do that at least be entertaining rather than just dismissive.

This feels even more complicated with pubs. Often a review is only really seeing a snapshot of a place, how it happened to be at one moment in time. I know plenty of pubs that feel incredibly different depending on the time of day or day of the week, depending on who is working there that day and who is drinking there. I don’t think you can give a proper, full assessment of a pub unless you have got a feel for the ebb and flow of the place. Maybe you just caught it on a good day, or a bad one.

I suppose I have come a few conclusions on this. First, criticism is more valid (or if I’m being truly honest, perhaps just far easier) when you are punching up rather than punching down. Taking down a major writer or a popular band or a major pub company feels more constructive than taking down a self-published author, an obscure artist on Bandcamp or a local independent pub. 

Second, any writer who is even considering these issues, who sees this as a dilemma rather than something to dismiss, is probably on the right track. We won’t always get it right, sometimes we should be negative and that might affect others, but at least in considering the consequences of our actions we will be attempting some kind of accountability and, well…honesty. 

Finally, writing (especially criticism) is almost always just as much about the writer as the subject matter. In explaining what we like and dislike, and in how we go about that, we reveal just as much about ourselves at what we are praising, critiquing or condemning.

A few short notes on Correction by Thomas Bernhard

Cover of Thomas Bernhard's book, Correction. There is the outlines of trees on the cover.

Wherever we look, we see nothing but abandoned intentions”

Thomas Bernhard’s Correction (translated by Sophie Wilkins) is a book of two halves. In the first half the narrator is summoned to his friend Hoeller’s house following the death of their friend Roithamer, and is tasked with making sense of the papers that Roithamer left in Hoeller’s garret. The second half sees the narrator relay Roithamer’s final work, which outlines Roithamer’s thinking behind building a gigantic cone in the forest, but that ultimately details both his philosophy of the world and his descent into some kind of madness.

“I’ve lived half my life not in nature but in my books as a nature-substitute, and the one half was made possible only by the other half”

The two halves of the book mirror the doubling/halving seen throughout, the contrasts between books and nature, city and countryside, work and home. There need to be two sides to provide the right balance in life, a contrast that provides a creative tension that can help drive us, but also tear us apart. It is life as an act of perpetual correcting/correction, Bernhard in this book and others illustrating the urge to go from one direction to the exact opposite only to circle back again – whether in action or in word.

“What we publish is destroyed in the instant of publication. When we say what we are doing, it’s destroyed”

Bernhard’s trick in the second half of the book is to have the narrator indirectly relate Roithamer’s words, distancing us from them by placing the narrator between the reader and Roithamer. We are reading the narrator, who is reading Roithamer. It is a technique you can see Sebald picked up on with his works. 

This doubling of narrators both mirrors the themes of doubling in the book and is a device that shows the thoughts and madness of Roithamer (or anyone) will always be just out of reach. We are all ultimately unknowable as we are in a permanent state of correction, forever changing, and there is no way for anyone to articulate that inner life on the page and even if we could, the reader would interject or project themselves onto the text, and then wish to look away – “We read a book, we’re reading ourselves, so we loathe reading”.

“Every idea and every pursuit of an idea inside us is life…the lack of ideas is death”

This is a book on the importance of ideas, and the impossibility of those ideas, that to truly fulfill an idea requires the kind of purity and perfection of both thought and action to render it unachievable for most of us, and destructive for the few who can actually realize their vision. The idea might bring about life, but its completion will kill us. I can see why the narrators in many of Bernhard’s later books procrastinate and fail to do anything. Roithamer is an example of what happens when you throw yourself entirely into an idea at the expense of everything else.

“In this way people tend to waver at a certain point in their lives, and always at the particular crucial point in their lives when they must decide whether to tackle the monstrousness of their life or let themselves be destroyed by it before they have tackled it”

I suppose in some ways a creative act is also an act of correction. In creating something new it is, by definition, in opposition to what went before it. There may be a set of influences or processes or standards, but the creation corrects all of those, sometimes in small ways and sometimes in monumental ones. And this how we fight that monstrousness of life, and maybe that is a quietly and perversely hopeful thing. We may ultimately be destroyed by our ideas, but it is our ideas that give us life.

From The Top

People milling about in a bookshop

Just a quick heads-up that all-round great guy and fantastic writer Steve Harris has a new novel in the works that he is hoping to fund via Kickstarter. If you happen to have ten quid to spare you could do a lot worse with it than pledge it towards Steve’s project and in return you will receive a signed, printed copy of the novel itself, From The Top. And considering the campaign has already raised over £150 of the £500 target, there is a good chance you will be supporting a successful project too. Read the rest of this entry »

A probably unnecessary post about David Foster Wallace

Sign at a David Foster Wallace event

On the anniversary of David Foster Wallace’s death I expect there will be a glut of people sharing that This is Water video. It is a lovely piece of writing, but an odd one as it seems to have become this whole new creature, half self-help guide, half unintentional self-eulogy. Read the rest of this entry »

Sunday Reading

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