Customer Reviews

A Reader's Manifesto: An Attack on the Growing Pretentiousness in American Literary Prose

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One of the first reviews I ever wrote on Amazon.com was for "The Art of Scandal : The Life and Times of Isabella Stewart Gardner" by Douglass Shand-Tucci. I'd read about it in the New York Review of Books and, encouraged by the author's having won literary awards (oh! if I only knew then what I know now!), was distressed to find it almost unreadable, replete with sentences like this:

'Though stimulated by her patronage - Gardner was one of the first to see Loeffler not only as a virtuoso but as the composer he wished to be and increasingly today is regarded as - Loeffler grew to feel at one point distinctly imposed upon by Gardner, who seemed to him possessive and only too willing to "show him off" in Ralph Locke's words, as "a kind of in-house virtuoso" in the Gardner music room, all of this, or (sic) course, quite classic behavior on the part of humble but artful, trustworthy but vain, kind but cruel and rampagingly dominant Isabella!'

Yikes, I thought, somebody messed up. Perhaps the editor forgot to edit and the reviewer forgot to read? Several weeks later I heard an interview with the author on NPR and listened intently, waiting for someone to ask the author about this horrid, florid style, and was shocked that neither correspondent nor callers ever mentioned it! Since that episode I've saved the reviews for books I intend to read so I can compare my reading experience with that of critical reviewers, and I have been shocked (shocked!) at the disrelation -- not just once but many times.

Enter B.R. Myers, who takes on the literary establishment with this delightful, accessible and pithy critique, starting with a preface about the work's beginning as an Atlantic Monthly article, continuing with chapters devoted to critical darlings Annie Proulx, Don DeLillo, David Guterson, Paul Auster and Cormac McCarthy, and ending with an epilogue on the response of critics to his reproaches, a humorous set of rules for the Serious Writer, copious endnotes and a bibliography. Myers states his premise early on -- "some of the most acclaimed contemporary prose is the product of mediocre writers availing themselves of trendy stylistic gimmicks" -- then goes on to cite passages used as examples of brilliance by critics, analyzing their many flaws by calling attention to unimaginative content, repetitive phrasing, tedious structure and glacial pacing; he contrasts these excerpts with selections by Woolf, Nabokov and Balzac, among others. Perhaps even more scathing are his strikes against literary critics (contrasted several times with the common folk at Amazon.com) who not only praise style over substance, but who lavish praise without explanation, dismiss as philistine anyone who doesn't agree with them, and look down their noses at genre fiction -- the current refuge of story and character in American literature. Most telling is the epilogue, where Myers shows how prickly critics use straw-man arguments and ad hominem attacks to dismiss his position.

I've always been an eclectic reader, finding satisfaction and insight in the classics, genre fiction and nonfiction. But I throw my hands up in despair at the tripe that passes for literature with a capital 'L' these days and, when so many readers have access to almost any book imaginable, I'm angry at the editors, publishers and critics who have enabled this descent into unreadable exercises in style. Talk about codependent relationships! I'll take James Michener and Jane Austen over David Mamet or Don DeLillo any day of the week, any week of the year. Myers uses clear writing (imagine!) and lots of examples to show that, indeed, you are not crazy! The garbage critics have been telling you is genius is really just .... garbage.

I think there are fine contemporary writers out there -- Richard Russo, Jane Smiley, Christopher Buckley come quickly to mind -- authors who recognize that style services, rather than obviates, plot and character. But somewhere in the 20th century the arts got hijacked by an elitist group that thinks anything that can be understood by the hoi polloi must not qualify as art; that any painting or novel that is popular must be dismissed; that style triumphs over substance and that obscurity and novelty pass for style. I don't know how to defeat hateful, boorish snobbery, but I think that the great unwashed masses sharing opinions in forums like Amazon.com is a great way to begin.

Bless you, Mr. Myers, for taking on this naked emperor. Perhaps you might tackle the art and music world next?

It seems that a good number of the reviewers here haven't actually read the writers that Myers criticizes. "You don't have to be familiar with the books?" Sheesh. Shouldn't one make his or her mind up about works of art instead of relying on critics?

Having read the essay only and being only truly familiar with Delillo and Auster (who both run hot and cold, IMO), I think Myers has a few good points and some bad points.

But I think some of the reviews here are mistaking "difficult" writing with "bad" writing, something I don't think Myers does. In fact, he praises Joyce, Woolf, and other writers who, at their most challenging, are far more difficult to read than Delillo, Auster, or (I'd wager) any of these others. Myers isn't celebrating anti-intellectualism as some here seem to think he is. His argument is with sloppy writers, not difficulty.

Readers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your New York Times Book Review!

I first heard of The Reader's Manifesto on BookTV (C-Span), when a guest named it as one of the best nonfiction books of the year, and said it criticizes modern "literary" writers and the reviewers who love them. David Guterson was one of the writers the author critiques, so I couldn't wait to get the book.

Let me tell you why. I'm typical of the readers that Myers discusses. After reading mostly computer books for a while, I'd taken up serious reading again. Unfortunately, most of the books I read and audiobooks I listened to were bad. After looking for something that had received good reviews and awards, I chose Snow Falling on Cedars by Guterson.

The book was a grindingly slow, repetitive piece of crap. It didn't turn me off to reading as Myers worries, but after a handful of well-reviewed klunkers like that, who knows? If you're interested, you can click to see my other reviews and read my 1-star review. I even wrote some faux-Guterson dialogue as a bit of sport.

So I wanted to see if B.R. Myers agreed with me, and hallelujah, he did. He mentions us Amazon reviewers in this book (Myers says we know what we're talking about, for the most part, because we trust our own taste and sensibilities, and we discuss the author's style instead of recounting the plots. Yay for us!). I felt validated; a lot of reviewers loooooved Snow Falling on Cedars, it won all kinds of awards, and there *is* this kind of attitude out there that you don't like something the critics love, it's because you don't get it, because you're a philistine.

Myers is no philistine. He's well-read in both modern and classic works--much better read than I, and I had feared that I wouldn't be able to follow the references to so many writers and books, new and old. The fear proved (mostly) unfounded, because he does include so many illustrative quotes.

In each chapter, he contrasts passages from some modern writers with better passages from classic writers. It's very effective. Probably the most wonderful comparison was in the chapter, "Edgy Prose." He tears apart a passage from Don DeLillo's White Noise, which I'd not read, for being just a laundry list, lacking soul and depth.

Then he quotes a passage from Balzac's Lost Illusions, which explores a similar theme (consumerism), and I was just blown away. This (shorter!) piece said so much more. It had soul. It had depth. It brought pictures to my mind. It made me stop to re-read a sentence -- not because of non-comprehension or boredom, as is the case with DeLillo's writing, but to savor the turn of phrase, to let it sink in. It made me want to RUN to the library and take out Balzac. It was a fitting comparison.

But, I wondered throughout the book, these are fitting comparisons, but are they *fair*? After all, not every writer can write like Balzac, right? Times change, writing styles evolve. And weren't many iconoclastic writers criticized, in their day, for being different from the past? Will future readers laugh at our naive criticisms of what will one day be considered great writing?

Doubtful. For reasons better articulated by Myers, these books *are* plain old bad. The writing is unclear, overwrought, repetitive. Even if a writer can't be Balzac, he or she can surely do better than this. And reviewers *aren't* criticizing, naively or otherwise -- they're raving.

And they're raving about the very same passages that Myers ridicules. This is one of Myers's most cunning strategies; he's not pulling the one bad passage out of an otherwise great book and pillorying it, out of context. He's taking the very same passage that other reviewers have showcased as an example of great prose, and word by word, sentence by sentence, analyzing its language, its meaning, its style. If Myers's use is out of context, then so was theirs.

In this respect, this book is not so much about bad writing as is it about bad reviewing. No one wants to say the emperor has no clothes. It's bad enough Guterson is a bad writer, but do we have to give him the PEN/Faulkner award? Does Granta have to name him one of the twenty best young novelists? Nay, I say, nay!

One criticism: White Noise was published in 1985. Other books he critiques date to the early 90s. Though their premature datedness is one of his points, it seems strange to complain about these books now, almost a generation later.

Myers himself is something of an enigma. Sometimes I wondered, if Myers hates these writers so much, why does he keep reading their books? Nothing on Earth could get me to read another Guterson book; I'd like to know Myers's motivation. It's not like he's in the publishing industry and *has* to keep up with what's new.

Of course, one of the most infuriating things to the literati, was that this upstart was an outsider. Myers includes many of their reactions to the original magazine article on which this book is based, and it's a fascinating chapter. It's amazing how consistently his detractors misrepresent his position, setting up straw-man arguments and launching ad hominem attacks, constantly calling him a philistine.

That chapter, as well as a bibliography and footnotes, make this book feel very complete, though only 149 pages. The tongue-in-cheek appendix giving "Ten Rules for Serious Writers" was funny but probably superfluous. Overall, this book is a much-needed, well-meaning kick in the butt, full of sanity and sincerity. Even if you're not familiar with the authors he criticizes, you'll understand and enjoy it.

Edited to fix author's name.

Have you ever read an award-winning work of recent fiction, only to wonder why it has received so much praise? Well, to quote Robin Williams' character in "Good Will Hunting," it's not your fault.

Myers' book is a well-balanced and concise work, less than 150 pages (including endnotes and bibliography), but it packs a powerful impact. He focuses his well-documented attack on pretentious modern literature with specific stylistic criticism of five contemporary American authors, award-winning writers snugly ensconced in today's literary Hall of Fame. The excerpts he employs to demonstrate bad writing are as illustrative as they are painful to read, and there is scarcely a sensible reader out there who wouldn't agree with Myers' complaints. In many places, Myers contends that the amateur book reviewer on Amazon.com (that's us) knows more about good reading than the high-minded critic in New York. He ends the book with a fair response to his many critics and enemies, along with a sarcastic set of "rules" any aspiring writer of "serious" fiction ought to adhere to.

In short, I am glad to have discovered this book, as it affirms many of my reactions to today's awful, yet acclaimed, writing. If you've ever been puzzled by the positive hype surrounding a terrible book, read this manifesto and discover that you are not alone.

Brilliant little book. I would have loved to see Myers rip into some other bloated cows of contemporary lit, but he obviously loves good books, so why should he have to submit himself to the pain of actually reading all that bovine excrement?

One thing I'm still puzzling over is why these sacred cows became so sacred in the first place. The log-rolling theory holds up to a certain point (pretentious novelist A gives a rave to precious novelist B, and B slaps a slobbery blurb on the back of A's next book), but why are all the non-novelist reviewers and critics praising the precious pretentious poop? Haven't they read the great writers? Is it that these poor ink-stained wretches are discouraged from writing scathing pans by editors who don't want to rock the literary boat? I've spent the last couple of years reading a lot of James Boswell, Thomas Wolfe, Henry Green, Henry de Montherlant, Proust, Kingsley (not Martin) Amis, Knut Hamsun, Patricia Highsmith (a "genre" writer). Try reading these people, and then pick up the new Franzen or Moody. Then try not to toss the new F or M across the room.

I'm too lazy to look it up, but Charles Bukowski once said something to this effect, "It wasn't that what I was writing was so good. It was just that what everyone else was writing was so bad."

Book reviewers, bookstores, online bookstores, book clubs rave over dozens of new books each year. Yet rarely do they ever really tell the truth. Why? Because they want you to buy a product before you know what it really is. Think about it: how many times have you bought a book someone has recommended and been disappointed?

Myers tells you which writers to steer clear of. Unfortunately it doesn't tell you much about writers to seek out. Following Myers's principles, I will recommend a few from my own shelves.

1. In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote. Capote's non-fiction novel is the best thing he ever wrote and is a model of great narrative. No American writer today can touch him.

2. Ragtime, by E. L. Doctorow. Doctorow tells his story using, in part, real-life characters. It is irresistable. Time magazine called it one of the 10 best novels of the 1970s, and they were right.

3. Valley of the Dolls, by Jacqueline Susann. Don't laugh. Susann wrote direct, clear-eyed prose about the hell show business is on women. And what a great story. As the Salon Guide to Contemporary Literature rightly observes, she has had many imitators but no equals in this genre. Excellent.

4. Tales of the Unexpected, by Roald Dahl. Dahl writes unforgettable short stories. They stick in your mind because they are so damn good and exciting to read.

5. The Feast of Love, Charles Baxter. What love feels like: the joy, the jealousy, the mystery, the secrets. What does it all mean? Baxter gives us hints in these always exciting, often erotic stories.

I could go on, but these give you an insight into what Myers's is onto. Great popular writers can be damn good, literary-wise. Do a little exploring and you will find this to be absolutely true.

Bravo to Mr. Myers for telling us the truth: most contemporary "literary" fiction is just pretentious. His book is wonderful. Look for gems like the ones I've mentioned above and you will enjoy reading again.

R.L.

Yes I was one of those who thought it was my fault.

While I am an educated person, I have no formal training in literature. Over the years my taste in books has developed more or less on its own. So of course I have been self conscious about not being able to "get into" many of the current literary authors so highly recommended in book reviews and by "literary" friends.

What a relief to learn that my only fault may have been to question my own judgement too much. Many of the authors Myers discusses are the very ones I have struggled to appreciate. When an author seemed pointlessly difficult after I had soldiered on through several pages, my response was to give up, concluding that I was just not up to speed. Now I know that the reason many contemporary authors seem pointlessly difficult is that they are, ummm... pointlessly difficult. Thank you Mr. Myers!

Readers be confident! If an author cannot make a reasonably educated reader want to turn the page, it is the author that has failed - not the reader.

One funny sidebar Myers points out is how many reviewers tend to parrot the style of the book being reviewed. This makes things even easier - if the book review itself is pointlessly difficult to read, move on. Without guilt. Move on.

I walked by "A Reader's Manifesto" countless times in the bookstore, judging from it's title that it was in praise of exactly the people Myers rails against (those types use the word manifesto a lot, you see). Finally, bored one day, I read it...and kept reading it till the store closed and I was forced to leave. I bought it the next day. Never before had I seen something so good, so pure, so right (meaning the first thing that didn't make me feel disgusted at myself for just looking at it) in connection to the literary establishment. In fact, it's probably the only place I could read the words of these "Literary" blowhards and still read witty phrases (by Myers of course).

Perhaps my favorite part of the book is Myers' attack on the consumerland of DeLillo (in Edgy Prose), or his response to the sex scenes in Snow Falling on Cedars. Of course, the biggest laugh you could get from it would be from reading the comments from the "Literary establishment"...what pretentious, hypocritical idiots. I doubt they've actually read either the books they were defending (or even read them when they first praised them) or the essay this book was based on. And, of course, as style must be mentioned, I'll say that this book is well written, so well written in fact that while coming out as clearly witty, it is also clearly effortless: Myers writes nothing confusing, nothing based on ignorance, nothing that seems at all like he labored to impress the reader. And unless you're a part of the "Literary establishment" or one of their blind followers, you'll probably agree with everything he says.

Finally someone has stopped whispering and simply stood up and said, "These books are not well written." What a relief. It's so embarrassing to be turned off by the kind of general ficiton that B.R.Myers writes about and feel like an idiot because of it.

Myers looks at excerpts from award winning books and celebrated authors and asks the question "Does this excite?", Is this well written?", "Can you understand it?". Unfortunately the answer is always "No". If "The Reader's Manifesto" was just having a dig at the authors it would become fairly evident because of a paucity of text to choose from, but there is plenty, and it is truly bad. Reading some of it made me embarrassed and some made me laugh, but all of it, especially compared with work by Woolf or one of my favourites, Thomas Hardy, was rubbish.

One of the main points in "The Reader's Manifesto" is that we would not have these kind of books if it wasn't for the patronage of editors and the support of a bunch of sycophantic reviewers. It is depressing to think there are even more bad writers out there who, because they are deemed 'modern', will make money out of something they can't do. It is even more depressing to think that there are people like me who will read their books, grow bored with them (yes, I have read McCarthy, Proulx and Guterson), and then give up on 'good writing'.

I thank Mr Myers for making it obvious that the feeling of melancholy, reluctance to finish a novel, plain disgust, boredom and the occasional 'D'oh' moments come down to writing that is repetitive and doesn't make sense. I suddenly remembered all the books I loved and couldn't put down because they were interesting, contained wonderful language and made me want to read to the end. I am not ashamed to say that some of these books are in the genre of thrillers - Crichton and Mankell - some are children's books - Diana Wynne Jones, Philip Reeves, Karen Cushman - and a few are general fiction, modern and classical - Maugham, Harper Lee,Sue Monk Kidd - and even horror - Bram Stoker. So why are we getting still being fed mediocrity?

Myers is worth reading, even if you still love the author's he critiques by the end of it, because it makes you think. The overall message of trusting to your own opinion is enough to make it worth spending a few dollars.

This is what all aspiring writers are told by their writing instructors. Basically, that if you're brilliant, you don't have to follow the rules of good form, grammar and common sense like the rest of the world. However, geniuses can do whatever they like. Mr. Myers blows that assumption away by showing countless excerpts of highly acclaimed literature that are perfect examples of what not to write. As a matter of fact, when I teach writing next, I may just use several of the examples to show what not to do. I have felt this way for a long time about modern literature. Most of the current word choice and usage is selected just so that the phrase will be unique, not because it is good writing. Good writers are out there, they just don't win Pulitzers. I was forced to read Toni Morrison in college and have felt this way ever since. This is a great book, although I would have love to see some passages and examples of good writing as well. There are authors out there that are worthy... but maybe Mr. Myers will have a sequel, especially considering all the bad press around this book.