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Bold New Voices in Fiction Never Are
March 13, 2007
So I piss and moan a lot (Really. A lot. It's pathetic.) about what are referred to by one or more of us as scheissebuchen. Scheissebuchen arrive daily and, depending on the season (this spring has been rotten with them), in large quantities. What makes a scheissebuch? Any number of things, but here are a few warning signs:
- Bad writing: Worse than bad. Equivalent to the babble-rants of that late-stage syphilitic homeless guy in Union Square (the one shunned by the other homeless guys), as transcribed by a stand-up comic fresh off the Grehyound from Paducah.
- Girl moves to the city and. Girl has to choose from five guys who. Old people have insight about. Babies are cute but hard work and. I never knew my father/mother but my mother/father reveals him/her to be. Long hours/neglectful spouse lead to. Childhood abuse victim confronts demons and. Life's banal tribulations lead character to realize. Etc.
- Cover art includes one or more of the following: whimsical line drawing; Motel Six-caliber pastel or watercolor landscape; bare feet; feet (bare or not) dangling from swing/pier/tree/branch/tailgate; fire; rain-slicked city street; models trying to look hot or tough.
- Title includes: water, river, journey, moon (especially moon), star, any precious stone, any flower, club, when, my, anonymous, confidential (exception: Ellroy), last, lost, diary, confessions.
- Press material heralds the arrival of a "bold new voice in fiction."
Like I said, there are a lot of these. So the last thing I want to see some days when I get home is another book. My books, then, are sorta like the poor, neglected gynecologist's wife. Except the gynecologist would have to work in a free clinic located near a needle exchange. The fix? Read only good books. Or at least try to. To that end, I read and pretty much enjoyed the new Chabon, but felt it buckled beneath the weight of its shtick. Also, an old Martin Amis (how can you not love what a prick he is?). Some weird little Penguin Classics mysteries by Georges Simenon. Bruce Wagner's darkdarkdark Memorial.
Anyway, there's a two scheisse-element galley stinking up my desk right now. Duty calls.
Posted by Jonathan Segura on March 13, 2007 | Comments (2)
