part I: exercising wernicke's area

ben marcus' essay in harper's magazine (oct 2005 issue), "why experimental fiction threatens to destroy publishing, jonathan franzen, and life as we know it," kicks off with an intriguing introduction that outlines the role wernicke's area has in reading comprehension. marcus employs stand-out prose passages that beg to be read aloud (gotta love prose that leaps ecstatically off tongue, teeth, and lips), and that only occasionally veer peripherally into a light rhetorical antagonism (a tone akin to that sometimes found in 'tino's "hostility suite").

the introductory ten paragraphs of this essay excited me. i initially felt the urge to invite marcus out for a beverage to chat about his work. i'd play devil's advocate; i'd relate anecdotes to corroborate his points; i'd ask questions. instead, i read aloud sections to jordan scott, as they're hugely relevant to our recent conversations around audience, publishing climate, and accessibility in writing. after reading them aloud, my brain sprouted tangents, tangents that circled back to recent toronto conversations around what we mean by words such as art, literature, poetry, performance, entertainment. and then i started this blog post. and now i'm editing this blog post. and i'm left with these fascinating marcus quotes embedded in my tangential thoughts. there is much to say about marcus' essay and the many points he raises. feel free to post in my comments box; i'm about to get all digressive...

before marcus hones in on the titular material of his essay (or, as i said to jordan, before marcus digresses from the bits i find electric), he articulates something that's been a popular topic between westward writers and me. this seems particularly timely, as jordan's brought up the ever-fascinating issue of a writer's awareness of, definition of, and potential relationship to his audience during the writing process (and prior to the reading process). note: i replaced "fiction" with "poetry" in the following passage...

"A writer laboring intensely to produce art from words would almost certainly hope for an active Wernicke's area, rather than an atrophied one, on the part of his reader. As a writer of sometimes abstract, so-called experimental [poetry] that can take a more active attention to read, I would say that my ideal reader's Wernicke's area is staffed by an army of jumpsuited code-breakers,working a barn-size space that is strung about the rafters with a mathematically intricate lattice of rope and steel, and maybe gusseted by a synthetic coil that is stronger and more sensitive than either, like guitar strings made from an unraveled spinal cord, each strand tuned to different tensions. The conduits of language that flow past it in liquid-cooled bone-hollows could trigger unique vibrations that resonate into an original symphony when my ideal reader scanned a new sentence. This would be a scheme so elaborate that every portion of language would be treated as unique, and its infinite parts would be sent through such an exhaustive decoding process that not even a carcass of a word would remain. My ideal reader would cough upa thimble of fine gray powder at the end of the reading session, and she could use this mineral-rich substance to compost her garden."

would we hope for a reader? if we did, would we hope for a reader with an active wernicke's area? at one point before/during/after the writing/publishing do we consider our possible readers? how might we approach our own texts differently (during writing, editing, or when finished) if we assume a certain reader? how do i interpret my text through my mom's eyes? how might i edit my text to have a stronger impact for jill hartman if she reads it? would i refine my poem before sharing it with BafterC? how would i consider my text through the eyes of my high-school best friend turned revenue canada agent, a toronto high-school student whose first language is cantonese, drew barrymore (i watched ever after last night; she's on my brain), my employer, the judges of supernova: rockstar, a honeybee? how many editorial passes have i made on my work by considering different readers (before and after their responses)?

back to marcus' essay... i initially question marcus' likening the reading process to a puzzle, but i realize my back rose only because i've heard arguments against some non-traditional poetries refer to them as pointless brain-teasers. marcus' prose invigorates, and i follow my thoughts to self-reflexion. i love investigating a poem's logic, and that sense of investigating could quite easily be likened to decoding. back on track...

"If reading is a skill, with levels of ability, and not simply something we can or cannot do, then it's a skill that can be improved by more and more varied reading. The more various the styles we ingest, the better equipped we are to engage and be moved by those writers who are looking deeply into the possibility of syntax as a way to structure sense and feeling, packing experience into language, leveraging grammar as a medium for the making of art."

a skill developed by varied reading, but for my learning style it's also developed by active discussion with peers about these readings. i recall the first time i read karen mac cormack's at issue; i had pleasure in some of her syntax, but was unable to fish the deeper logic of why these words met each other on the page the way they did. a few conversations later, my wernicke's area was sweaty and buff.

"Whether or not this intense kind of reading makes us freaks is another matter, but the muscle grows and strengthens every time we use it, leaving us hungrier to encounter sentences we’ve never seen before. And there are certain books that do require us to be readers, that ask us to have spent some time with sentences of all sorted and presume an intense desire for new language that might render notions of "effort" in reading meaningless. But now, in the literary world, writers are being warned off this ambitious approach, and everywhere are signs that if you happen to be interested in the possibilities of language, if you appreciate the artistic achievements of others but still dream for yourself, however foolishly, that new arrangements are possible, new styles, new concoctions of language that might set off a series of delicious mental explosions-- if you believe any of this, and worse, if you try to practice it, you are an elitist. You hate your audience, you hate the literary industry, you probably even hate yourself. You stand not with the people but in a quiet dark hole, shouting to no one.

"I am writing this essay from such a hole, I suppose, and it's my view that the reverse is true. The elitists are not supposedly demanding writers such as myself but rather those who caution the culture away from literary development, who insist that the narrative achievements of the past be ossified, lacquered, and rehearsed by younger generations. In this climate artistic achievement is a legacy, and writers are encouraged to behave like cover bands, embellishing the oldies, maybe, while ensuring that buried in the song is an old familiar melody to make us smile with recognition, so that we might read more from memory than by active attention."

this was the part that reminded me of "hostility suite" and that resonated with so many conversations i've had over the last two years with colleagues. i'm still much of a listener in this kind of conversation, still at that point where i'm eager to soak in a variety of opinions, pre-stance or having a stance but not yet displaying it lest i be asked to then display my funny walk that accompanies said stance. (digression: i do this with writing, too. i may be writing, but i won't admit it to someone else unless i'm feeling an urge to share or a confidence at the level where the writing sits.) but this is a hot topic in some literary circles i sample.

i could continue to digress and tangent and branch away; i feel like i've just scratched the surface of so many intriguing topics. i'm much more eager to learn what you think about any of this, all of this? where did your thoughts lead you (or where did you lead your thoughts -- WHO HAS THE LEASH?!) as you read this marathon of a summer blog post?

further reading re: marcus' essay... harper's has an excerpt from later on in the essay online. slate published an essay review by jess row. publisher's weekly provides a preview for the essay, hinting at the later passages (which i didn't discuss at all here).