Ferris' Then We Came to the End

Then We Came to the End was one of my favorite books this year, now it's been nominated for the National Book Award. It's a novel told in the rare first-person plural -- "we" -- about layoffs at a Chicago ad agency. It's funny and accessible, and I love how it gets at existential questions like: What does it mean to belong to a group? What do people have to sacrifice to fit into the group -- the freedom to do what they want, or to do what they think is right? And what do they gain from the group-- the top two contenders being the comfort of camaraderie and the increased power of group effort?

Ferris was interviewed by the National Book Foundation. He said a couple of things that I thought were really interesting. Read the whole interview here.

BAJ: In a country such as ours, where reading is in such a state of crisis, what is the role of the fiction writer? Does being a finalist for such a prestigious award affect how you view yourself in that role?

JF: I take a cue from Vladimir Nabokov on this question: the role of the fiction writer anywhere is to bring delight to the reader and nothing more. I can do as little—which is to say very, very little—about the country’s woeful state of reading as I can about the country’s woeful state of geopolitics. All I can do is try my best to provide the greatest amount of artistic delight for that reader or two who decides to follow me where my instinct and curiosity take me. I do right by that reader if I do right by myself, and I do that by being attentive to what’s interesting, peculiar, funny, eternal, and by being attentive to words.

I love this answer, and I think it's right on the money. It reminds me of what Flannery O'Connor used to say, that the job of the Catholic writer is to be a good writer. No one is going to attend to your writing if it isn't believable and moving in the first place, she said. (Nabokov is a hole in my literary resume; I haven't read him.) I also like that Ferris adds about doing right by the reader by doing right by himself -- kind of a literary Golden Rule -- so he's balancing the delight of the reader with his own intellectual/aesthetic engagement, which precludes writing in some kind of manipulative way to thrill the masses.

BAJ: What drew you to the story?

JF: Probably the challenge of it. Tell a story with countless characters from the point of view of a monolithic failing advertising agency—go! Also, the challenge of trying to turn an experience—I worked in advertising—into genuine fiction. Not veiled autobiography, but an honest sublimation of mundane experience into something deserving of a reader’s limited time on earth. And finally I was fascinated by the behemoth structure of a corporation—the hierarchies, the coded messages, the power struggles. I thought such a pervasive and inscrutable place merited the sustained attention a novelist has to give to his or her subject. The characters in Then We Came to the End are under the constant threat of layoffs, and that creates a specific group dynamic: the group’s unquenchable scrutiny of itself. I thought it would be fun to watch that group dynamic implode.

I love that he says "deserving of a rader's limited time on earth." I hate to sound like a snoot, but it's very depressing when I read a book and it's only marginally OK. I think, "There's two hours of my life I'll never get back." On the other hand, that doesn't mean I always want to read something ponderous and serious. I like funny books because life is funny.
I'm re-reading "Then We Came to the End" because I'm fascinated by how it handles the idea of community. I grew up in a small town in Louisiana, which I left behind many years ago, and sometimes that makes me sad and sometimes that makes me happy. I have real mixed feeling about small-town life, as a lot of people do. (My beloved Spoon River Anthology tackles the heart of this conflict; see my previous post on this topic here.) But in the modern world, the most pertinent community for educated professionals tends to be the work place, and a lot of literature either ignores that or minimizes it. I like Ferris' book because he takes on the workplace in all its weirdness.

George Saunders and "The Braindead Megaphone"

A lot of books I read are just OK, so it's like a lovely little gem when I read one I really, really love. That was the case with The Braindead Megaphone by George Saunders. Here's my short review for the books page:

Saunders' unique aesthetic carries over to his first book of journalism, The Braindead Megaphone, where he reports on illegal immigration at the U.S.-Mexico border, the awesome greed and friendliness of international tourism in Dubai, and a meditating teenager in Nepal.

Saunders writes about American fiction like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and, quixotically, the young adult classic Johnny Tremain. His conception of narrative is as complex as a difficult fiction writer like David Foster Wallace, but his own writing style is marvelously direct, much like that of Kurt Vonnegut, whom he praises as a model. He describes Vonnegut's books as a sort of black box that readers enter. "The writer gets no points just because what's inside the box bears some resemblance to 'real life.' What's important is that something undeniable and nontrivial happens to the reader between entry and exit."

The nontrivial thing that happens with Saunders is we contemplate the big question he's trying to answer, something along the lines of, How are human beings supposed to live in the world? The final piece is a tongue-in-cheek press release from the organization People Reluctant to Kill for an Abstraction: "At precisely nine in the morning, working with focus and stealth, our entire membership succeeded in simultaneously beheading no one. At nine thirty, we embarked upon Phase II, during which our entire membership simultaneously did not force a single man to simulate sex with another man. At ten, Phase III began, during which not a single one of us blew himself/herself up in a crowded public place."

He concludes: "We, in fact, outnumber you. Though you are louder, though you create a momentary ripple on the water of life, we will endure, and prevail."

I like that the book was published directly to paperback, so it's not too expensive -- $9.80 on Powell's for goodness sake!
My mom asked me recently, "What's Powell's?" Well, it's online bookseller much like Amazon. But in my opinion they are more supportive of book culture than Amazon, so I'm linking to them more. Not that there's anything bad or wrong about Amazon, I just like Powell's better. And actually, I buy most of my books at Tampa's independent bookstore, Inkwood Books. Check out their cute little bookshop here.
So I was browsing at Inkwood and ran across the Believer Book of Writers Talking to Writers, featuring an interview with ... George Saunders! So I picked that up and I'm now looking forward to that too.
In fact, I'm looking forward to reading lots of the interviews. I'm surprised at how many I've read: Zadie Smith (loved On Beauty), John Banville (I picked The Sea for my book group before I left for Ireland), Ian McEwan (I read Saturday), Edward P. Jones (The Known World is probably the best American novel published in the last 10 years), Marilynne Robinson (Gilead might give "The Known World" a run for its money) and Haruki Murakami (how beautiful and trippy was Kafka on the Shore?). OK, I'll stop now. You get the picture.
Now I know what else you're thinking. Spoonreader, look at this long post you've created on a Friday morning! Well I've got a new computer with wireless, so la la la la (singing and skipping). Perhaps this will increase production here at spoonreader.com.

My personal library

Every time a new book comes into my house, an old one must go out. Why? I only have three bookshelves. And maintaining a simple, clutter-free home where I enjoy spending my time is more important to me than keeping every book I've ever read.
I accept this, but it's still hurts to say good-bye. I try to avoid it, stacking books on tabletops and even on the floor. This goes on for a month or two before I become disgusted and approach the shelves ready to purge. Which should go? Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlansky? Lenin's Tomb by David Remnick? Or The Quality of Life Report by Meghan Daum? (All actual books recently purged.) These are good books, so it's not a question of quality. Instead, I use two criteria to decide which books to pitch. Is the book going to be difficult to find at a local library? And do I see myself reading this book for a second time, ever? If the answer to both question is no, then out it goes.
(Obviously, I do not throw these books away. They get donated to the local library or given to friends.)
In this way, I have built my own personal canon. Which books will never be pitched? Hard to say with certainty. But off the top of my head, I would put the following random books high up on the list: East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. Pretty Birds by Scott Simon. Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. The Secret History by Donna Tartt. The list goes on ....