March 7, 2012 § 2 Comments
By Julie Farrar
R236 What’s Wrong With the Whole Truth / Thursday, Mar. 1, 4:30-5:45 p.m.
S198 Critical Divide: The Personal Essay and the Critical Essay / Saturday, Mar. 3, 3:00-4:15 p.m.
S219 The Lyric Essay: A Collapse of Forms or a Form of Collapse? / Saturday, Mar. 3, 4:30-5:45 p.m.
This was my first AWP conference. I was adrift trying to identify the structure of the at-large writing community, trying to distinguish the term-du-jour, the ongoing issues, and whose voice holds prominence in the critical discourse of the field vs. the literary. I fretted that I didn’t know that black nails was the new black among writers and that I had not a molecule of purple or orange dye highlighting my own hair.
These first date jitters proved unfounded, however, when I realized that many share my same unease over the unwieldy term “creative nonfiction” and all it infers. What no one mentioned was that the essential questions they were asking had been grappled with for centuries.
Let me say up front that I fell in love with Sven Birkerts when he used the terms “belletristic mode” and “polemic” in the same sentence in the session “Critical Divide: The Personal Essay and the Critical Essay.” The question he was addressing when these gems popped out is why such a tension exists between “creative” and “nonfiction.” Why does nonfiction need the reinforcer in front of it? Is the category so vast (on a suggested spectrum of documentary writing at one end, academic writing taking up the middle, and CNF at the other end) that most of it doesn’t even earn the label “creative”?
Fiction and poetry invent; therefore, to the world at large they’re obviously creative. Birkerts argued, however, that creativity in non-fiction has less to do with the “what” and more to do with the “how.” Discovery is creative. Searching out patterns within information and the form writers make out of those facts require imagination or creativity as much as the other genres. Or, as Fiona McRae put it in the same session, CNF is more than just filling in the chronology. And just because a writer uses the “I,” that doesn’t make it creative.
Rebecca Skloot, as part of the panel “What’s Wrong with the Whole Truth?”, asked the same question. The confusion for people about “creative nonfiction,” she said, lay in the implications of “creative,” as in creative-with-the-facts (the John D’Agata controversy was never far from the surface in many panels). If we think about the term only as applying to content, then it’s easy to see how anyone within or without the genre can doubt that any identifiable boundaries exist. It can give those within the genre license to play with “truth” in pursuit of “Truth.” For those outside the genre, well, it makes them wonder what we’re up to over here.
Although no one used the term “rhetoric,” they were more or less positing support for Cicero’s ancient canons – invention, arrangement, style, delivery – as the defining features of nonfiction. Philip Gerard and Peter Trachtenberg channeled Aristotle in the “Whole Truth” session, hammering home the ethical obligations of the writer (his or her ethos) to get the facts right, especially when telling stories about other people. Aristotle schooled us in ethos (the character of the speaker), pathos (the emotional presence of the issue language creates), and logos (the discovery and arrangement of the material). Rhetoric itself covers Birkert’s spectrum with deliberative, forensic, and epideictic speech. Modern rhetorical theory has even broken out of this arrow-straight spectrum, while still maintaining the essential ethos/pathos/logos triangle.
I have more discovery of my own to accomplish by next year’s conference regarding the tension between “creative” and “nonfiction.” However, Ned Stuckey French in discussing “The Lyric Essay: A Collapse of Forms or a Form of Collapse?” came closest to articulating a vision of CNF-as-rhetoric. The qualifier “creative” implies fiction as the norm, he said, like if instead of calling an apple a fruit we called it a “non-meat.” Since all rhetoric engages the imagination in invention, arrangement, et al., perhaps at some future AWP conference we’ll shift from trying to make our nonfiction apple into a palatable non-meat dish fancied up with a bit of “creative” sauce. We’ll claim a straightforward label, saying that all nonfiction employs art in service to facts. Not the other way around.
Julie Farrar earned her PhD in Rhetoric from Purdue University a lifetime ago, taught more freshmen than she can count how to reseach and write essays, and now sits at her computer in St. Louis working on a memoir about raising her adopted children, travel essays, and personal essays. She has much to learn about writing, but recently earned first place in the Travel and Shopping category of Travelers’ Tales 6th Annual Solas Awards.
March 26, 2010 § Leave a comment
Speaking of Reality Hunger (and the ideas contained therein), Sven Birkerts has a worth-the-read-as-always look at Reading in the Digital Age in the new American Scholar, wherein he posits:
“SUDDENLY IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO IMAGINE a world in which many interactions formerly dependent on print on paper happen screen to screen.”
Birkets is a great thinker and writer, but perhaps more fearful of technology than he need be. Case in point: Over on Facebook, writers Steve Yarbrough, Chris Offutt, and Matt Roberts have an exchange, quotedbelow, which shows perhaps that the interactions and discussions “formerly dependent on print on paper” do “happen screen to screen,” and pretty quickly too.
There is some tongue-in-cheek here, but enjoy:
Steve Yarbrough was struck by the conclusion of Sven Birkerts’ fine essay “Reading in a Digital Age,” which appears in the current issue of THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR: “To achieve deep focus nowadays is also to have struck a blow against the dissipation of self; it is to have strengthened one’s essential position.”
Is there a link to that?
Here you go, Chris:
I think it is hilarious that you have posted on your Fb page about this essay, are then asked by another writer for a link to this essay, to which you readily reply so that he can read it online. That is, on a screen. Is it just me, or does that seem antithetical to Birkets’ point?
Or does this suggest that his point only applies to the novel, to fiction? That is, is nonfiction, the essay in particular, something that is well-suited to “the screen”? And, if so, then does that mean that the novel is a better environment for “losing oneself in” than the essay?
Thanks. that was intended as sort of a joke–the idea that “Reading in a Digital Age” would be online in American Scholar.
Guess as usual, I’m a day late and a dollar short when it comes to technology…
No, Chris. I got the joke. But then Steve complied (even though he likely got the joke, too). And now we’re talking about it. That is, time spent in front of the screen can produce an intellectual response in the reader in much the same way that time spent “losing oneself” in a book can. Don’t get me wrong. I love books and don’t think that they should (or will) become extinct, but I get anxious about the antagonism toward the screen that is prevalent in this field.
I think the American Scholar is a good example of how something appearing onscreen isn’t the problem. It is how we think and feel about what is onscreen that matters. As long as the material being produced is of the same quality as that which appears in print, then what is the problem with the mode of delivery? That the act of reading is competing with easy online access and Fb? When I’m reading at home, that act is often competing with my kids’ requests, the dirty dishes piling up in the sink, and the urgent need to evacuate my bladder. (Although I should point out that at this point I am using Fb to avoid reading my students’ essays, so I should go get lost in reading…)
[Birkets] actually talks about Googling a Nabokov quote that he needed for the essay.