As a mid-list writer, I had a few interactions with some players in the neighborhood. One of the things that happened was my editor and agent talking about my work and decided what direction they wanted me to go in, the same direction that I started heading out into. But I didn't want my writing to be a supermarket rack staple, didn't want to be a 'House thoroughbred,' like the genre power writers. Not that I would ever get there. I just didn't want that. So that agent connection faded slowly when I started sending them 'different' books than what they had sold.
I would disagree slightly with you about the division being between the NYC literary world and 'the South.' I think the real divide is between the NYC literary world and the rest of the country, that being America. (Seems to me that the NYC literati is more interested in writers from Africa, Asia and the Middle East than they are about writers from America, the non-NYC part.
Funny, I never read Big Lights Big City until the last year of so. Your piece reminded me of that. Very good, by the way.
The insular-ism and nepotism of the writing biz is depressing and discouraging. What ever happened to the gates being flung open simply by 'the words on the page?' Maybe that had never happened. I guess not. There always had to have been the fixer, the connection. Like Maxwell Perkins, willing to untangle the heap of pages to find the story within.
Regarding the nepotism, I think Adam Bellow wrote a defense of that (think it was Adam). I never read it as I think it's indefensible. Yes, it's a reality, like a huge boulder fallen down onto the roadway. It 'is.' But I would never defend it nor read a defense of it.
Well, I wish you success. I will continue to go about my own quest for publication out here in the hinterlands. No trips to the Big Apple for me. Maybe it will never happen. We will see.
I also didn’t know these were things you could do until about that same age. And I feel similar about New York. I never gave it as good of a shot as you did, but I could see it turning out the same way.
This quote, which seems made up, has always made sense to me: “Hemingway described literary New York as a bottle full of tapeworms trying to feed on each other.” —John Updike
I was an editor at Doubleday during the time you are writing about. I hope if we ran into each other in some fashion that I treated you decently.
I'm out of the game now -- retired after 42 years in it. I managed to publish a lot of books that mattered and that I was proud of, and only a few that I wasn't. I think I lived a meaningful life in a world that does have all the moral hazards you identify. I even managed to have a whole lot of fun, which I mention because sometime in the twenty-tens fun got outlawed. I don't want to make more of this than I should, but I somehow was able to make it into the red hot center (sorry) from an upbringing in the olde Bay Ridge. Well, it helped that I went to Cornell, thanks to a good Catholic high school overlooking the Narrows. But I know plenty of people in publishing, in the higher reaches, who grew up in modest middle class circumstances and didn't have to learn any secret handshakes to get there either, nor did they have to phoney themselves up. Talent and commitment and a solid sense of one's self will get you farther than you seem to be suggesting.
I ended up hanging out with some of the young guns from n+1 and even published Mark Greif's AGAINST EVERYTHING. I hope you will forgive me.
I also hope you have read Norman Podhoretz's MAKING IT. (A Brooklyn boy from Brownsville , went to Boy's High, as did Norman Mailer.) It will speak to you.
You got me at Malcom Cowley. I have just finished a biographical study of him and it will be published some time next year, I expect. I think you will find it of interest. You've probably read EXILE'S RETURN; give A SECOND FLOWERING a try, it's truly magical. And as for William T. Vollmann, I had the good sense to publish his first novel, YOU BRIGHT AND RISEN ANGELS in paperback at Penguin. I can't say that I understood it all, but it had a Pynchon vibe that I liked and I figured, hey, I'll be like whatever guy got Bantam or Signet to reprint THE RECOGNITIONS back in the fifties. This notion actually panned out. See: fun.
Gerald, of course I remember you, and admire all your work as an editor. You’re a legend! Thank you for the lovely and informative comment, I will check out the books you mentioned and very much look forward to your book on Cowley. I’d love a galley if you would be willing to share. Aaronlakesmith@gmail.com. And I have a copy of Second Flowering that I need to read.
This retired professor taught writing for thirty six years and the first lesson about writing in the first person: go back through the story or essay and see how many "I"s you can delete. The New York Times recommends a non-fiction book so I check it out of the library. Almost every one begins with a personal anecdote. "I was in Milan having dinner," etc. I doesn't matter whether the book is about coral reefs or quantum mechanics. And in nearly every case the "story" has nothing whatsoever to do with the subject of the book. Editors must demand this because I see it in nearly every non-fiction book published in the last twenty years. If one of those editors is reading this, N.B.: it doesn't draw this reader in but makes me want to chuck the book across the room.
I woke up to the money thing late. I didn’t realize for far too long that all these writers had family money. I couldn’t figure it out! Another thing was that, like you perhaps, I was more enamored of the idea of a literary career than I was of actually writing. So many ambitious people at parties seem to be missing the most important part: Having something to say.
More, please. I'm curious what the state of it is now as well. Having never been around "literary circles", I've wanted to at least be in the periphery of one in my youth for some of the reasons you described in your piece.
But that doesn't seem to be in the picture anymore and I make myself feel better by the fact that most of the world barely reads and really does not give a shit about any of it.
Nice glimpse of this world. Want the sequel where you leave or get puked out of it by a system rejecting an alien and potentially hostile organism.
Never heard of William Vollman, but wow, what a crazy-huge output. Respect for starting and finishing that many projects. They are hard even if other people end up thinking they are not good, or can't finish them.
Brilliantly written -- I like this sociological vein you're taking. "Anarchy world," "literary world"; you have indeed moved in worlds, and it's good to see you listing their qualities in this lyrical and personal yet grand way. You could write a novel now, you know. I think the experience has gestated enough.
As for the ideas: I feel this is at once too vicious and too generous an assessment.
Too vicious, in that I think it discounts more or less totally the possibility of an authentic little magazine or small press community focused punk-like on doing its own thing for its own sake, as well as the possibility that suburban outsiders can make it into such a bubble -- my own experience with a similar background (New Jersey, immigrant parents who moved up into white collar professional jobs, no real connections before my fancy college, similar feeling of alienation and wonder and disgust and desire from the Official Culture once I encountered it) is that I actively *rejected* the lit world people at various points because they were impediments to my being able to write what I wanted to write, fell in with one magazine I really liked that gave me a long leash, founded another one that gives me an even longer one, and basically only ever hang out or collaborate with people I genuinely want to hang out or collaborate with while telling the rest to fuck off, all while staying abreast of literary world's various doings. I don't say this to toot my own horn, since I know others like me, but rather to show that there is another path as a simple matter of fact. The thing is, it comes with a price tag: I was only able to do this when I basically accepted that my full time work would have to be something else, and that my creative projects would be my evenings and weekends, additional income rather than what I used to make rent. By latching myself to wage-labor outside of literary world, I had the financial independence to make broadsides against it without needing to kiss anybody's ass. That's been hard in its own way, of course, in terms of sheer time; I think it's been worth it, but not everybody does. My personal opinion, though, is that art thrives in part-time world.
Which is also why I think your essay is in a way too generous -- if I'd written it, it would be full of a lot more bile against the impossible rents of the city, the paucity of easy low-fuss day jobs artists can slip into and out of without working too many hours while still making rent and having savings, etc, as well as be a lot meaner to the scenesters and hangers-on than you ultimately are, since I regard their schmoozing and asslicking not as a perennial cost of doing business in the literary establishment but as something closer to the perennial enemy of all great literature. (But then again, I'm a Bolañoist and a Poundian in my theory of artistic praxis, so that shouldn't be too surprising.) Be careful that your worldliness and exhaustion don't harden into acquiescence and apathy! Don't let them put the light out inside you! Keep your belly warm with rage!
That said, I'm in many ways replying by being honest to my experience, whereas this essay is great because it's true to yours. So these are less critiques than a stream-of-consciousness response. Great writing.
I loved this, and only became aware of it because it got picked up by Arts and Letters Daily. I will try to pay attention from here on out, Mr. Smith!
I interviewed Robert Anton Wilson, who died in 2007 and published 35 or so books, fiction and non-fiction. He was born in 1932 in a very poor area of Brooklyn called Gerritsen Beach. He was "shanty Irish," as he said. He went to the storied Brooklyn Polytechnic HS, became an Engineer, but was a total erudite by age 18. The picture painted here by Aaron seems pretty much the same as the one Wilson paints about the New York literary scene, but he remarked about how it was in the 1950s-1970s. He ended up living in Chicago and publishing from there, then Mexico, Berkeley, Dublin, then Los Angeles and Santa Cruz.
The "wall of families" and the rich: he talked about the same thing. He acted like he wasn't bitter, but I think he was, making a remark about being locked out of certain literary magazines unless you "wore the right class pin." He thought there were so many other great ideas out in the world, but the NY writing scene still seemed to think Marx and Freud were "hot" when they were long passé in places like San Francisco.
This piece was super interesting to me from a sociology of knowledge POV: how ideas and production and "reality" is conditioned - not totally, mind you - by geography and the money and larger interests found there. Bravo!
Dude! Former intern at ol' 666 here myself, from 2005. Feel every word of this. Agreed with commenter below that it's not NYC vs South, it's Back East vs. Everyone Else. (I'm TX & AZ and always felt like a fencepost in that town.) 'Twas ever thus, I suppose. I care less as I get older and publishing begins to fall apart. Onward we go. Keep after it, will be reading!
Connections, human interpersonal connections, who you know / who knows you, networking — these are constants of all cultures, why would it be any different in the literary world? It is in the interests of the insiders to sell the idea of Meritocracy — write well, nurture your unique voice, work steadily — and you too will break through to the big time. You just have to deserve it. That justification for success makes the successful look great, doesn’t it? They are not successful because of connections but because they are the best. That the insiders and those who manage to connect with them have it far easier than the indie kid (whatever the age) should be a truism, but all the How-to-Be-a-Writer lit is premised on the Meritocracy, as though quality will inevitably find audience and it’s the writer’s fault if they toil away unknown. Sure, there will be nobodies who garner renown, who clamber up the bestseller lists, but the freaks, the black swans only confirm the myth. There are a lot of really fine writers out here in the world; only a handful will make it. The best? Hardly a given.
Fantastic. Warm yet beautifully structured. Keep it up. I don't usually read for connection with authors, but was hooked by your first line -- I quoted Lapham yesterday, was sort of fascinated by Vollman for a while (went to Deep Springs), am from the South, romanticized "writers" of an era that was going . . . etc. I am also very interested in the (fading?) of physical literary culture. Kudos.
This was a very powerful piece, thanks for writing it. I think you found the heart of the matter when you talk about people who care—people who are willing to dedicate their lives to the creation of culture. There's nothing wrong with that pursuit. Certainly, the "sausage getting made" would not be a very pretty sight to behold—but the bedrock principle that the culture-makers are heavily invested in their culture-making and don't want anyone in their midst who isn't invested as heavily, is a valuable mindset to have.
I notice the same things in the art world; first it was Paris, then New York, and now it's New York and London—they set the tone for everything that happens in contemporary art (if you're interested in reading about the contemporary art world, I would Suggest Tom Wolfe's "The Painted Word" and Don Thompsen's "The $12M Stuffed Shark."
I'm very interested in the idea of local scenes and cultures, and it's a sad thing when I hear of the big art- and literature-magnet cities siphoning off local talent. It could be that, if well-developed local scenes existed, the fawning and power / money-chasing you describe would be more spread out. I don't know if that would be a good situation, though.
As a mid-list writer, I had a few interactions with some players in the neighborhood. One of the things that happened was my editor and agent talking about my work and decided what direction they wanted me to go in, the same direction that I started heading out into. But I didn't want my writing to be a supermarket rack staple, didn't want to be a 'House thoroughbred,' like the genre power writers. Not that I would ever get there. I just didn't want that. So that agent connection faded slowly when I started sending them 'different' books than what they had sold.
I would disagree slightly with you about the division being between the NYC literary world and 'the South.' I think the real divide is between the NYC literary world and the rest of the country, that being America. (Seems to me that the NYC literati is more interested in writers from Africa, Asia and the Middle East than they are about writers from America, the non-NYC part.
Funny, I never read Big Lights Big City until the last year of so. Your piece reminded me of that. Very good, by the way.
The insular-ism and nepotism of the writing biz is depressing and discouraging. What ever happened to the gates being flung open simply by 'the words on the page?' Maybe that had never happened. I guess not. There always had to have been the fixer, the connection. Like Maxwell Perkins, willing to untangle the heap of pages to find the story within.
Regarding the nepotism, I think Adam Bellow wrote a defense of that (think it was Adam). I never read it as I think it's indefensible. Yes, it's a reality, like a huge boulder fallen down onto the roadway. It 'is.' But I would never defend it nor read a defense of it.
Well, I wish you success. I will continue to go about my own quest for publication out here in the hinterlands. No trips to the Big Apple for me. Maybe it will never happen. We will see.
Thank you for your perspective and wisdom, Paul.
I hope there’s a part 2 to this.
I also didn’t know these were things you could do until about that same age. And I feel similar about New York. I never gave it as good of a shot as you did, but I could see it turning out the same way.
This quote, which seems made up, has always made sense to me: “Hemingway described literary New York as a bottle full of tapeworms trying to feed on each other.” —John Updike
Mr. Smith:
I was an editor at Doubleday during the time you are writing about. I hope if we ran into each other in some fashion that I treated you decently.
I'm out of the game now -- retired after 42 years in it. I managed to publish a lot of books that mattered and that I was proud of, and only a few that I wasn't. I think I lived a meaningful life in a world that does have all the moral hazards you identify. I even managed to have a whole lot of fun, which I mention because sometime in the twenty-tens fun got outlawed. I don't want to make more of this than I should, but I somehow was able to make it into the red hot center (sorry) from an upbringing in the olde Bay Ridge. Well, it helped that I went to Cornell, thanks to a good Catholic high school overlooking the Narrows. But I know plenty of people in publishing, in the higher reaches, who grew up in modest middle class circumstances and didn't have to learn any secret handshakes to get there either, nor did they have to phoney themselves up. Talent and commitment and a solid sense of one's self will get you farther than you seem to be suggesting.
I ended up hanging out with some of the young guns from n+1 and even published Mark Greif's AGAINST EVERYTHING. I hope you will forgive me.
I also hope you have read Norman Podhoretz's MAKING IT. (A Brooklyn boy from Brownsville , went to Boy's High, as did Norman Mailer.) It will speak to you.
You got me at Malcom Cowley. I have just finished a biographical study of him and it will be published some time next year, I expect. I think you will find it of interest. You've probably read EXILE'S RETURN; give A SECOND FLOWERING a try, it's truly magical. And as for William T. Vollmann, I had the good sense to publish his first novel, YOU BRIGHT AND RISEN ANGELS in paperback at Penguin. I can't say that I understood it all, but it had a Pynchon vibe that I liked and I figured, hey, I'll be like whatever guy got Bantam or Signet to reprint THE RECOGNITIONS back in the fifties. This notion actually panned out. See: fun.
Take care.
Gerald Howard
Gerald, of course I remember you, and admire all your work as an editor. You’re a legend! Thank you for the lovely and informative comment, I will check out the books you mentioned and very much look forward to your book on Cowley. I’d love a galley if you would be willing to share. Aaronlakesmith@gmail.com. And I have a copy of Second Flowering that I need to read.
This retired professor taught writing for thirty six years and the first lesson about writing in the first person: go back through the story or essay and see how many "I"s you can delete. The New York Times recommends a non-fiction book so I check it out of the library. Almost every one begins with a personal anecdote. "I was in Milan having dinner," etc. I doesn't matter whether the book is about coral reefs or quantum mechanics. And in nearly every case the "story" has nothing whatsoever to do with the subject of the book. Editors must demand this because I see it in nearly every non-fiction book published in the last twenty years. If one of those editors is reading this, N.B.: it doesn't draw this reader in but makes me want to chuck the book across the room.
Every segment of culture and industry in New York works the same way, relatively speaking.
I woke up to the money thing late. I didn’t realize for far too long that all these writers had family money. I couldn’t figure it out! Another thing was that, like you perhaps, I was more enamored of the idea of a literary career than I was of actually writing. So many ambitious people at parties seem to be missing the most important part: Having something to say.
More, please. I'm curious what the state of it is now as well. Having never been around "literary circles", I've wanted to at least be in the periphery of one in my youth for some of the reasons you described in your piece.
But that doesn't seem to be in the picture anymore and I make myself feel better by the fact that most of the world barely reads and really does not give a shit about any of it.
Nice glimpse of this world. Want the sequel where you leave or get puked out of it by a system rejecting an alien and potentially hostile organism.
Never heard of William Vollman, but wow, what a crazy-huge output. Respect for starting and finishing that many projects. They are hard even if other people end up thinking they are not good, or can't finish them.
What a fantastic piece! Thank you for sharing. Love these insider tales.
Like Sayed Qtub behind enemy lines and feeling ambiguous about it. Unlike Qtub you have not hardened your position when coming home.
Brilliantly written -- I like this sociological vein you're taking. "Anarchy world," "literary world"; you have indeed moved in worlds, and it's good to see you listing their qualities in this lyrical and personal yet grand way. You could write a novel now, you know. I think the experience has gestated enough.
As for the ideas: I feel this is at once too vicious and too generous an assessment.
Too vicious, in that I think it discounts more or less totally the possibility of an authentic little magazine or small press community focused punk-like on doing its own thing for its own sake, as well as the possibility that suburban outsiders can make it into such a bubble -- my own experience with a similar background (New Jersey, immigrant parents who moved up into white collar professional jobs, no real connections before my fancy college, similar feeling of alienation and wonder and disgust and desire from the Official Culture once I encountered it) is that I actively *rejected* the lit world people at various points because they were impediments to my being able to write what I wanted to write, fell in with one magazine I really liked that gave me a long leash, founded another one that gives me an even longer one, and basically only ever hang out or collaborate with people I genuinely want to hang out or collaborate with while telling the rest to fuck off, all while staying abreast of literary world's various doings. I don't say this to toot my own horn, since I know others like me, but rather to show that there is another path as a simple matter of fact. The thing is, it comes with a price tag: I was only able to do this when I basically accepted that my full time work would have to be something else, and that my creative projects would be my evenings and weekends, additional income rather than what I used to make rent. By latching myself to wage-labor outside of literary world, I had the financial independence to make broadsides against it without needing to kiss anybody's ass. That's been hard in its own way, of course, in terms of sheer time; I think it's been worth it, but not everybody does. My personal opinion, though, is that art thrives in part-time world.
Which is also why I think your essay is in a way too generous -- if I'd written it, it would be full of a lot more bile against the impossible rents of the city, the paucity of easy low-fuss day jobs artists can slip into and out of without working too many hours while still making rent and having savings, etc, as well as be a lot meaner to the scenesters and hangers-on than you ultimately are, since I regard their schmoozing and asslicking not as a perennial cost of doing business in the literary establishment but as something closer to the perennial enemy of all great literature. (But then again, I'm a Bolañoist and a Poundian in my theory of artistic praxis, so that shouldn't be too surprising.) Be careful that your worldliness and exhaustion don't harden into acquiescence and apathy! Don't let them put the light out inside you! Keep your belly warm with rage!
That said, I'm in many ways replying by being honest to my experience, whereas this essay is great because it's true to yours. So these are less critiques than a stream-of-consciousness response. Great writing.
I loved this, and only became aware of it because it got picked up by Arts and Letters Daily. I will try to pay attention from here on out, Mr. Smith!
I interviewed Robert Anton Wilson, who died in 2007 and published 35 or so books, fiction and non-fiction. He was born in 1932 in a very poor area of Brooklyn called Gerritsen Beach. He was "shanty Irish," as he said. He went to the storied Brooklyn Polytechnic HS, became an Engineer, but was a total erudite by age 18. The picture painted here by Aaron seems pretty much the same as the one Wilson paints about the New York literary scene, but he remarked about how it was in the 1950s-1970s. He ended up living in Chicago and publishing from there, then Mexico, Berkeley, Dublin, then Los Angeles and Santa Cruz.
The "wall of families" and the rich: he talked about the same thing. He acted like he wasn't bitter, but I think he was, making a remark about being locked out of certain literary magazines unless you "wore the right class pin." He thought there were so many other great ideas out in the world, but the NY writing scene still seemed to think Marx and Freud were "hot" when they were long passé in places like San Francisco.
This piece was super interesting to me from a sociology of knowledge POV: how ideas and production and "reality" is conditioned - not totally, mind you - by geography and the money and larger interests found there. Bravo!
Dude! Former intern at ol' 666 here myself, from 2005. Feel every word of this. Agreed with commenter below that it's not NYC vs South, it's Back East vs. Everyone Else. (I'm TX & AZ and always felt like a fencepost in that town.) 'Twas ever thus, I suppose. I care less as I get older and publishing begins to fall apart. Onward we go. Keep after it, will be reading!
Connections, human interpersonal connections, who you know / who knows you, networking — these are constants of all cultures, why would it be any different in the literary world? It is in the interests of the insiders to sell the idea of Meritocracy — write well, nurture your unique voice, work steadily — and you too will break through to the big time. You just have to deserve it. That justification for success makes the successful look great, doesn’t it? They are not successful because of connections but because they are the best. That the insiders and those who manage to connect with them have it far easier than the indie kid (whatever the age) should be a truism, but all the How-to-Be-a-Writer lit is premised on the Meritocracy, as though quality will inevitably find audience and it’s the writer’s fault if they toil away unknown. Sure, there will be nobodies who garner renown, who clamber up the bestseller lists, but the freaks, the black swans only confirm the myth. There are a lot of really fine writers out here in the world; only a handful will make it. The best? Hardly a given.
Fantastic. Warm yet beautifully structured. Keep it up. I don't usually read for connection with authors, but was hooked by your first line -- I quoted Lapham yesterday, was sort of fascinated by Vollman for a while (went to Deep Springs), am from the South, romanticized "writers" of an era that was going . . . etc. I am also very interested in the (fading?) of physical literary culture. Kudos.
Thank you, David.
This was a very powerful piece, thanks for writing it. I think you found the heart of the matter when you talk about people who care—people who are willing to dedicate their lives to the creation of culture. There's nothing wrong with that pursuit. Certainly, the "sausage getting made" would not be a very pretty sight to behold—but the bedrock principle that the culture-makers are heavily invested in their culture-making and don't want anyone in their midst who isn't invested as heavily, is a valuable mindset to have.
I notice the same things in the art world; first it was Paris, then New York, and now it's New York and London—they set the tone for everything that happens in contemporary art (if you're interested in reading about the contemporary art world, I would Suggest Tom Wolfe's "The Painted Word" and Don Thompsen's "The $12M Stuffed Shark."
I'm very interested in the idea of local scenes and cultures, and it's a sad thing when I hear of the big art- and literature-magnet cities siphoning off local talent. It could be that, if well-developed local scenes existed, the fawning and power / money-chasing you describe would be more spread out. I don't know if that would be a good situation, though.
Thank you William.