I’m suddenly fascinated with French novelist Marie Darrieussecq, not just for her work but also because of her unique approach to the writing process. In a recent talk for the Frieze Foundation (available as a free download for anyone interested), she borrowed ideas from biology, philosophy, anthropology, and astrophysics, among other seemingly unrelated disciplines, to explain the writer’s place on and in relation to the planet. While writing, she strives to achieve a state of absence in both mind and body so as to become purely a part of the earth and its processes. She says, “the earth writes through me…I really sound like a crazy person.”
Almost. But as artists, isn’t that what we do–drive ourselves crazy with our own thoughts? What so intrigued me about Darrieussecq was her extreme emphasis on awareness. She considers everything from the activities at the molecular level to the shape of the moon. They’re the sort of thoughts that tend to make a person feel very insignificant in the scheme of things. But I suppose that’s the point. Darrieussecq notes that we tend to forget we humans are merely animals, only exceptional in that we’ve reached a state of civilization wherein we have no more predators. However, she says, “in our archaic mind we are still those people in caves to escape the bears, and I also write not about that, but with that.” Word.
Darrieussecq also read from her short story “Ghost Flat (A Modern Couple),” a metaphysical and existential work which I enjoyed enormously and transcribed for you, below. She wrote the story at the request of two architects, Décosterd and Rahm, based on the “ghost apartment” they invented, an interesting space-efficient architectural design you can read more about here. The short story was published about a decade ago in Japan, and apparently isn’t available anywhere (that, or Google has failed me). After the jump, a transcript of Darrieussecq’s reading of “Ghost Flat (A Modern Couple).”
John Hurt recorded the definitive version of Stagger Lee
It’s pretty rare these days that a song in popular music tells an entire story from start to finish, with defined characters and a decisive resolution. I think the reason for this is partially that story structure is inherently incongruous with writing a conventionally popular song; the backbone of pop music is the chorus, a familiar meme that gets repeated constantly throughout the song and which, by the nature of its repetition, weasels it’s way into your brain (Mmmmm bop, hippity dop bop doo wop…). And while this may be an effective tactic for making catchy music, you can imagine how annoying it would be to have the flow of a story you’re reading constantly interrupted by the same thing every twenty seconds.
This is not to say that story songs don’t exist — you can find them in the seemingly diametrically opposed genres of rap and folk music, both of which are less reliant on strictly defined song structures than pop music. What’s really interesting to me is that in both of these genres, there are certain tales that have endured over the years, becoming classics and even insinuating their way into mainstream culture. What makes certain story songs endure while others fade away? Why do they stay with us? In answering these questions, I think it’s useful to consider the ballad of Stagger Lee.
I’ve tried doing NaNoWriMo once or twice before but failed when more pressing things inevitably came up, but this year I told myself I wouldn’t give myself any excuses. So as of right now I’m a little over 2,000 words into what looks so far to be a truly heinous novel that will never see another reader besides myself. In contrast to my usual writing preparation, I didn’t do much advance planning beyond a few Post-Its with notes like “magic realism,” “circus freaks,” and “someone dies inconsequentially.” Actually, come to think of it, I’m beginning to understand why my novel-to-be is so dire. Heh.
I know NaNoWriMo isn’t for everyone. I’ve heard people deride NaNo’s preference for quality over quantity, for one. But I don’t think that’s such a terrible thing. One of the hardest parts about writing is getting the words out on the page in the first place, so you might as well churn out as much as you can. And anyway, you’ve got the rest of the year to take it slow and produce a smaller amount of higher-quality content. Plus, I dig NaNoWriMo because its participants are just as foolhardy and idealistic as me, and I like having a month where over a hundred thousand people across the world get together to celebrate the joy of writing. Writing becomes a social event, which I think is neat.
Are any of you doing NaNoWriMo this year? If you are, then (1) we should be freaking writing buddies. And (2) you might find this “Report Card” handy, courtesy of a kind NaNo-er named Buster Benson, who I will name-check here because anyone who wants the Report Card can download it for free. Read more »
