Big Fiction by Dan Sinykin (2023)

 This is subtitled How Conglomeration Changed the Publishing Industry and American Literature. It's part of a series called Literature Now, published by Columbia University Press in New York, which is about literary culture in the late 20th / early 21st centuries. It occupies a space, though, between the academic and the general. There is relatively little footnoting and any theory in it is broadly scoped. Sinykin traces the advent and development of conglomeration in publishing, starting right back with Random House buying Knopf in 1960. Publishing back then was defined in terms of discerning owners and editors regulating taste and exposure through their own enthusiasms, with sales performance used only as an excuse for rejection, and "poorly-performing" favourites still maintained on lists. Then bottom lines and business started their takeover. Now, 60 years later, we have Penguin Random House as 50% of the market if not more, along with four others, and bottom lines insisted upon as not only a key element which it is taken for granted all will obey, but an authorial consideration too. Ditto social media. Basically it's the story of neoliberalism applied to the book world. The main gist, and main recommendation, is historical. He splendidly traces the central players in the saga, who was hired when, and for what reasons, who (editor and writer) had successes with books we all know and why, and how all this was interpreted at the time and subsequently. He is an academic, though, and so smidgins of it creep in from time to time, not altogether impressively. Early on there's one of those classic baggy mentions of how "sameness and difference" echo through these various themes. As well say that "light and darkness" pattern the temporal milieux of the fictions discussed. His thesis is that conglomeration caused not only the folks in publishing to think differently (bottom lines and business) but also authors' thinking being influenced, directly and by osmosis. On the whole I get this, but have a few nags: was it not there in the background always? Was it not simply supercharged by neoliberal dollars-concerns? I'm thinking of the trope of the writer who writes anything that sells, from pulps to Edgar Wallace. What proportion of anticipation was given to income in those cases, and what does it culturally represent? He also makes a case for the repurposing of genre as connected to conglomeration, even though this was set going long before. It's connected, but not a result, is my thinking. The result is the current strength of the thread, not its origin. It would be interesting to trace the joins between the world of publishing pictured very exclusively here and the broader progress of the neoliberal project, the even wider story. The word 'neoliberalization' is the only derivative which appears here, and not until page 210, so perhaps he's shying clear of political talk of that obvious kind, hoping to avoid a "leftie" tag? It's all there, but in other words. On the whole I'd say that the thesis is interesting, but not entirely convincing - bottom lines and business have always been round and about the publishing world, especially in larger houses. Perhaps a survey of publishing outside the United States would bring this into focus? But the current (last 50 years) concentration on it to the exclusion of much is definitely new, and yes, delusively seen as a democratisation. Ditto across all sorts of enterprise, cultural and otherwise. The history is fascinating, the book being worth it for that alone. 

Deep Wheel Orcadia by Harry Josephine Giles (2021)

 This is a poem, very broadly speaking. It's also, purportedly, a science-fiction novel. It's also two things in one, the original and its translation - the original being in Orcadian, the English translation, smaller, below. It's by someone who is non-binary. So it has quite a lot going on, which makes the next thing a little 'tremulous', perhaps: it won the Arthur C. Clarke award for its year. Did the judges see all the above and think a very simple "wow!" and hand it the prize? Because it is doing a lot, on the outside? For me, outsides have to match insides, which means this one really needed to be an amazing reading experience, and, of course, it wasn't. The danger would always be the oldun' of falling between stools, married with the niggle of tokenism. If this were just its Orcadian poem, it would be a slightly dull affair which comes quite a bit brighter in its last third. In the first two thirds there's a lot of musing and staring out of windows, and characters which don't deeply engage the reader, but hey, it's a poem, so the terms are different. Yes, but it's a narrative poem, so, again, we need to bring that characterisation/engagement dialectic back closer to the centre of expectation. Obviously, it's a poem by today's standards - there's no rhyme, and this is replaced by rhythm and a kind of spareness in the usual manner. I have lived in Shetland for a few years now, so my ear is becoming trained to Shaetlan and its rhythms and tonalities through daily exposure to native speakers. Orcadian is a tiny bit different, but not a lot, so reading the poem was not onerous, and I could always dip to the English below for explanation if something didn't twig. So, as a poem, middlingly OK. 'Attached' to that, the novel: by which, I think we're saying, the narrative part, which was the story of a group of characters aboard a space station, their current state of flux in terms of relationships, workish and attractional, and ambitions, realised majorly through their emotional resonances. In the last third a something occurs among the wrecks which the station houses which is associated with light, and becomes a fractal 'explosion'. In the blue light of the poem, and the musing characters, this is also two things at once - appropriate, and a bit vague. Novelistically, it would certainly be considered on the 'unresolved' side, most examples of which need to have a compensator-factor to be satisfying: magnificent writing, deep atmosphere, extraordinary rightness philosophically. I wouldn't say this achieves that. The original Orcadian, being Giles' natal language (I am assuming, anyway) has the quiet economic arrow of intention which makes it clear and resounding, the word-choice 'free'. But the English translation is another affair. There's a classic example on the first page: the Orcadian 'teddert' which would naturally translate as 'tethered' is rendered as 'ropemoormarried'. Examples then proliferate throughout the book. There could be a lot said about this - is it an attempt to make a political statement? "Orcadian's implications are so rich that we need to give all resonations"? If so, it frankly feels a bit needy. Or is it some sort of enthusiasm for the Joycean brought as a further plate to this feast? If so, the taste is "ick". Is it political in the sense of "we need to render the English such that it is a lesser experience so that the Orcadian is clear and masterful by contrast - LEARN ORCADIAN if you want to read this work well"? If so, hmmmmmm. Then why translate at all? At all events, I pity the person who feels uncomfortable with the Orcadian and is relegated to the English alone. This one, overall, is a typifying example of the danger of promising too much.

Happy-Go-Lucky by David Sedaris (2022)

 This is my first Sedaris. It's quite hard, on the whole, to be reading such a thing in the same period of time as one is working through The Letters of Katherine Mansfield! The contrast is educative, and yet expected. Sedaris' style is essentially an emanation of the "21st century" ethos in literature (though he got going a tiny bit earlier). It is chatty and genial. Lite. Like the stuff you would expect from a friend over a restaurant table, but can see wouldn't translate into print well, if by 'well' one meant impressively, and if by 'impressively' one meant not only having impact, but also being genuinely, deeply comic, which is I think the aim. He has a walloping reputation for humour, and maybe this really hits when he is seen on stage, but this book is just......fairly superficial in the main. At least that would have been my whole summary if I'd only read to page 162. But with the piece 'Fresh Caught Haddock' and a couple after there is a lean into more gravitas. I don't know whether this is a deliberate move: 'allow the reader to become used to being a little mollified and glazed, then hit them with some slightly harder stuff'? The 'slightly' is key there, too. While entering this new territory and speaking of his father's end, his sister's suicide, we are also still treated to material about his teeth and a turd on the floor in a deserted airport, which would be quietly interesting when discussed orally (haha) with a friend, but are a little thin-on in text. I guess the question which then arises is 'what is "suitable material"?' And I guess it's this, if you are thrilled and pleased by that kind of thing. I suppose I'm one of those who want more. Picking other books off the shelves at the time of reading, and feeling the wateriness here by contrast. I don't feel illuminated. I wonder if he'll become another of those humorists who have quite a big catalogue (a la Patrick Campbell, or a good number of mid-20th century magaziney Americans) who are very popular in their times, but who go completely out of print once their era is over? It's a trope which resonates.

Around the World in 80 Books by David Damrosch (2021)

 This feels very much like the literary critical equivalent of a coffee table book. Such books have interesting things in them, but the weight is with the illustrations; the text is often blandly secondary. This one has a few illustrations, yes, in quiet black and white, but it definitely is a little "lite" textually, which makes it somewhat unsatisfying. It is a 'journey' around the world, as the title suggests, looking at the literatures of various cultures exemplified in some of their major works. It is written by a professor of comparative literature who has, I presume, put on his populist hat to undertake the project. It's genial, I guess, not piercing or revelatory. Damrosch has the tendency of making personal asides about members of his family or his own personal history - meaning that we have a book which has a small element of memoir alongside its main informative strand. That frankly sits a little uncomfortably. One other thing to mention is the occasional tendency to the glib: summarising sentences for each section which are a bit pat, or referencing about significance which is anodyne and unchallenging. All of that said, it's yet another in the "OK" list, a bit uninspiring, but all right, I suppose.

Operation ARES by Gene Wolfe (1970)

 ARES is an acronym: American Reunification Enactment Society. This is the 21st century, seen from the mores of the late 1960s. America, once great, has been through a tough time. It even had a colony on Mars. Then things began to unravel, and they "let the colony go". An influential section of the US populace decided to set the constitution aside, and installed a Pro Tem government, which, instead of being a bandaid solution, remained. The Pro Temmers are ones who speak of the poor, the humble, the people, but often seem more concerned with power. This power-seeking/concern engenders rebellion, with small groups of isolated opposition surviving, tucked away or operating in secret. Our lead man, John Castle, is one of the more effective of these. He has friends and associates of a similar make and networks by which he can communicate with them. He and the woman he loves, young Anna Trees (and her neversleeper brother Japhet) are living in White City, an inland smallish hub, typical of this new America, with rundown streets, frightening nocturnal 'wild animals' that will sniff out and kill any human beings they can, and "peaceguards" (sometimes cyborgs) who are employees of the new administration in place to scent rebellion and keep the new order. The "Martians" have been trying to communicate with their old country, in order to bolster the opposition, but the Pro Tems are blocking their transmissions. They have just started to land in remote areas and begin to foment an insurrection, which John and Anna are caught up in. The scene shifts into a forced walking journey to New York, where John and his fellows, who have been captured, witness a Martian landing and a decimating battle on both sides. Finally in New York, while he overtly is cooperating with the Pro Tem, secretly he is making connections with others of a similar persuasion. All this while, ARES has been a designation which has pretty well meant instant death, and John has wondered exactly who is involved. But he does identify with the movement, as he has heard it is. He is often accused of being a member, but can honestly say he isn't. (I'm guessing Wolfe intends the "Reunification" to mean two things at least: reunifying all Americans under a restored constitution, and reunifying the Martian Americans with those who abandoned them.) Through his new New York connections, John now discovers that ARES is a shadow, more a threat by the opposition; it has no members and does not "Enact" anything, other than causing distraction and befuddling of the airspace. But his reputation for effectiveness means that he is given the chance to make this shadowthing real. Anna has come in and out of focus all this time, with occasional meetings between the two as they both become major players in the resistance. The plot culminates with matter that has been brewing all through the novel: the Pro Temmers are supported by communist Russia (prescience gone astray there) and the legitimists by communist China (unlikely also). There are more and more battles across the country in what is emerging as a war proper. There are powerplays behind the scenes as to how much support either side can rely upon from these 'benefactors'. There is the somewhat figurehead-like presence of the last "real" President, Huggins, who has been an influential point of belief in some resistance quarters. In the end both sides sue for a cessation, and John, risen to the top, and the Pro Tem president bargain out a deal for the future, which includes restoration of the constitution and other concessions on the opposition side, and, on the other, a chance for the Pro Tem president to run for real after the "reunification", which is in most essentials a restoration, happens. He will have no opposition from those who formerly opposed him under the terms of the deal. It is a slightly downbeat and even copout-ish ending. Also, there are elements in this which could have done with far greater time allotted: why are the wild animals so frightening? Japhet's never sleeping is hinted at as only one type among many dysfunctions, but what engendered them? What does Wolfe mean, near the end, when he speaks in the bargaining period, from John's point of view, of the opposition requiring an end to welfare payments because they are "bribing people not to work"? The fact that he then immediately suggests the solution to this 'problem' being the enactment of what is in effect a Universal Basic Income seems a little unhinged and illogical without some sort of guaranteed work programme. But this novel also functions as a superior thriller in many respects, with a sheen of science fiction about it, and some almost noirish elements creeping in on grim city streets left desolate, and in secret meetings. It has an underfeel of potential originality which I'm looking forward to seeing in its prime, fully-developed form in subsequent works.

Situation Clarification G

 Having established the idea of consultative democracy in this example, there comes the question of how it can be maximised. Given the relative freedom conferred by instituting the principles of Modern Monetary Theory, I would suggest a centrally paid hour every week for everyone, at the time most convenient for them in each period, where they "engage with their democracy". Mostly conducted online, perhaps, with special provision made for those who lack the skills, or lack the necessaries, to engage in this way. You watch a transparently-prepared digest of the expert debates in parliament on the week's issues and then indicate your preference. Your representative then takes these to the administration, acting basically like an enumerator would in a census. In all but the most basic way, you are representing yourself. Their denomination as a representative is purely functional.

If you don't engage, you don't get paid. But there would have to be, I think, some sort of continuing promotion of engagement as a healthy aspect for our system, aside from pay. The building of it, much like not smoking is today, or being vaccinated, or driving safely, etc etc, as a responsible course of action - seeing it as a virtue.

The separating out of this hour for these purposes each week opens up a large new vista. How might our week look, and how might our lives be arranged? There is another critical part of Modern Monetary Theory called the Job Guarantee. This essentially says that if you are unemployed the public system can employ you, and you can have a living wage as a result. It has been explained as "the system being the employer of last resort". I think that might be language to appease private employers, as I can well imagine that it could be preferred employment by those whom it benefits. Of course, someone who is more money-motivated, that is, wants more than just a living wage, probably won't find it appealing - they'll want to stay in the private sector. All well and good - let's keep everyone satisfied.

There is, after all, so much to be done. There are a lot of us, and we have all sorts of needs which need meeting. There's no question at all that we can occupy everyone who can work, all of the time. Our current system is not maximising this in any way. And we have the result of course: a starved, clogged and denuded public purpose. 

I would like to think of this as potentially a template for quite significant change in our ideas about work. Given that you are someone who either is currently unemployed, or equally wishes to positively join this new system of Job Guarantee by preference, there is potential for quite innovative measures. Does your guaranteed work have to be all in the one place? Could you not, in a co-ordinated way, develop a working life spread among all sorts of tasks, if that variety would make a difference to your quality of life? Mondays and Thursdays doing A, Tuesdays and Wednesdays B, and Fridays C? Is variety the spice of life? I can only say for me it is. But of course there may be many who would prefer to concentrate on the one thing, specialising in it. 'Each to their own' seems to be workable in this scenario. With the proviso that if we're low in numbers in any essential thing, all those who can make shift to help, even if it's not their preferred activity.

Of course the above applies to work that could be called "generally skilled". Anything that requires specialist knowledge would need to be arranged differently. Portering at a hospital may be generally skilled; doctoring and nursing definitely not. But, given that those individuals may have higher stress and responsibility, and presumably will also have general skills, I don't see any reason why they can't say "I love my work, but I would also love to take Wednesdays off to do something less stressful, just to ease the load". 

Thus begins a quiet revolution - 'designed working lives' inaugurates the idea that how we spend our lives can be manipulated by us to make us a little more fulfilled, whilst retaining the idea of responsibility to the whole of the rest of us to get things done.

Sterling Karat Gold by Isabel Waidner (2021)

 This is a fascinating cartoon. Basically a comic of alternative heroism. I'm not all that much into all the new politics of the non-binary, though I would on principle support it when confronted with human beings who expect respect, which seems fair! What Waidner is doing here is setting up a fantastic scenario: a non-binary central character and their non-binary friend, who are residents of a Camden estate, and indulge in performance art-ish happenings, are in the mix of the area with various others, binary and not so. The bomb of the action is set off by "bullfighters" who (what can we call it?) "contend with" the central character on the street. This will indicate the remove at which events are described here. I think it can be read as an attack, and the assumption can be made that they are street yobs who have a go at someone who is different. But of course in the language of this piece there is a choreographed quality to how it's presented, and a slight separation from reality. From this a lot concatenates, with perhaps police investigators playing a part, though they are represented almost as secret agents. This develops a little further with an almost-reference to Kafka and a "trial" (some sort of mysterious legal case) that is brought about against Sterling, the main character. Also included is some politics, mainly to do with gender issues and those of refugees. Much of the narrative concerns the world as seen from these alternative points of view, all sieved through the language of fantasy - outfits, both humorous and street high fashion, are limned in detail; identities and histories wash in and out of focus, with wishes and desires as important and telling as realities; time telescopes and time-travel is possible, in order to right wrongs or see vanished loved ones; small poetic resonances are repeated for effect. All these things tumble in and out of one another intriguingly - the key thing being that, in the style of the piece, there is a really good economy: this is not flabby with all the excess of imagining - it's concentrated. The end is pretty dark, but, given what I think the piece is trying to say about how it feels when you are the one under attack, the violence in it seems....I hesitate to say appropriate.....perhaps accurate. The author appears to be asking: "how would this play if the boot were on the other foot?"