Essays and the Blog (1)

On August 28, Dick Jones brought to my attention a question about contemporary essays and essayists posed by Bob Harris on Paper Cuts, the blog about books written by the book review editors of The New York Times:

In early September, Yale University Press will publish “The Great Age of the English Essay: An Anthology.” It’s a useful crash course in what the periodical essay once was. There’s Addison and Steele; Dr. Johnson and Boswell; Hazlitt, Lamb and De Quincey. There’s gossip and scandal, obsession and addiction, even the blurring of fiction and nonfiction. All of a high order, of course. It certainly seems as if there would be contemporary equivalents of such fare. But, all due respect, I don’t see much of it on the so-called literary blogs, including this one. The collection’s editor, Denise Gigante, writes of the “clubby environment” provided by the coffeehouses of Enlightenment London, reminding us that the best essayists of today are unlikely to be hanging at Starbucks. For that matter, who — and where — are the great essayists working now?

Commenters brought up a number of writers and publications, some predictable and some not, mostly from the print world, but of course Dick and I were both delighted to see this one, from a reader named Felix Blume:

The so-called literary blogs are links clearing houses. They are part of the business of books, part of the structure through which it’s bought and sold. They gain their fame by being part of an echo chamber but, fundamentally, they have very little to contribute.

 

However, there are many essayists with a strong literary bent who are doing great work far from the limelight of the lit blogs. Precisely because they are earnest, non-clubby and light on the links, these people are not better known. They are poets, fiction writers, philosophers but, in keeping with the etymology of essay, what their blogs are are “attempts” or “tries.” These essays are broad and of flexible form; they include memoir, thoughts, criticism and original creative work.

 

Mr. Blume went on to give four examples, all familiar to readers here: Dave Bonta's Via Negativa; Dick Jones' Patteran Pages; Peter's "Slow Reads;" and my own Cassandra Pages. "Very high quality work," wrote Mr. Blume, "as good as what you’ll find in magazines, and I don’t think they are what most people think of when they think of blogging. I’d call them the Hazlitts of our time. It would be nice if the mainstream media someday featured them (as a phenomenon)."

I second that wish, but mainstream literary opinion still clings rather desperately to the traditional, dismissing blogs as a essay medium for reasons such as those cited by a later commenter:

The key is to find a forum that allows for length. Blogs are not great for lengthy pieces… blogs are generally for quick and snappy (and mostly puerile) observations.

Well. It's true that a blog is not the same as Harper's or the New York Review of Books, both favorites of mine for serious essay writing. But neither brevity nor lack of seriousness are valid reasons to dismiss essays found on blogs. Bloggers have many ways of getting around issues of length, such as serializing their posts, and readers are quite willing, I've found, to read single-post essays of substantial length so long as that's not the only thing the author ever offers. And as for the quality of the writing -- I think Mr. Blume made the point.

The greater differences between older and newer formats, I feel, are rooted in the fact that many bloggers write essays with different purposes and goals from the essayists who've always written for prestigious, traditional print publications. The whole phenomenon of essay writing is evolving within blogging to a related but different form, with authors willing to descend from the marble pedestals from which essays have traditionally been written and delivered, into a much more rough-and-tumble exchange of ideas.
--
My own roots as an essayist grew more in the compost of conversation than in the reflected light of words written by others, i.e., the "tradition of the literary essay." The women of my family read a great deal; that was the heyday of the essay-rich New Yorker, from the time of Harold Ross, E.B. White and Calvin Trillin to that of John McPhee and Oliver Sacks. Harper's, the Atlantic, Esquire, New York and many other magazines were part of the mix, as well as a steady stream of books -- and we talked about what we read. Of course it was influential to read all that excellent writing. But it was sitting around the dining hall at my university with a group of intense, smart friends, whose interests and studies spanned the whole gamut of the liberal arts and sciences, that really honed my ability and love for the process of developing one's ideas on a topic not so much through solitary research, but through conversation, integration, and staying open to left-field comments and associations that often gave the original path new energy and a lot more excitement. I think most of us who experienced that kind of exchange as young people were changed by it, and many bloggers point back to those years as formative for what they're doing now.

Essayer: the French verb means to try. When did the essay change from being a try, an attempt to grapple with a topic or idea, with the purpose -- one assumes -- of encouraging thought and further discussion, to an open-and-shut treatise? Don't get me wrong, I've been inspired to greater reflection, reading, and action by many traditional essays I've read, just as I've been inspired by sermons and speeches, their kin. Some of the essays I've written, especially literary ones, have certainly been constructed in a classic academic way -- the way I was taught to write them, frankly -- with a clear set-up, discussion of several main points, and arrival at a conclusion through logical argument and carefully-wrought sentences, hopefully with some entertaining tid-bits along the way. But I have noticed that the more finished a blog essay is - in the sense of being polished, conclusive, and certain  -  the fewer comments it will receive. Readers may appreciate what it says, or the style in which it's written, but chances are there's no opening left for them to say anything of their own.

Following a few of the links in the comment thread the other day at "Paper Cuts", I went to Harper's and read a recommended article on the current state of the essay, "A Strangely Elegant, Convex-Shaped Writing Machine" by Wyatt Mason, and then an interview by Mason with the article's featured essayist, Arthur Krystal. (Krystal is the author of The Half-Life of an American Essayist, from David Godine; its first chapter is here, and I recommend it as a clear statement of what it's like today to be a freelance intellectual writing essays for money.) In the interview, he says:

As for me, I occasionally received letters from writers when I was reviewing, but not many, and none that ever altered my opinion in the slightest. Nor do I receive many letters about my own work. Why more people don’t deluge me with their opinions about my take on Paul Valéry’s Notebooks or Friedrich Kittler’s Gramophone, Film, Typewriter is a mystery that passeth understanding. Only two pieces of mine ever elicited a lot of mail. One was a piece on laziness I did for the New Yorker, which energized a dozen or so lazybones to get in touch with me, and the other was “Closing the Books,” which spurred even more people to castigate, denigrate, and threaten me. I felt fulfilled.

I'm sorry that Krystal doesn't receive more feedback; he's an excellent writer. But he is perhaps right to find writing essays for money, and the whole publishing business, discouraging. After thirty-some essays, he says he has written about just about everything that matters to him; he finds almost nothing anymore that he wants to read; and he says all the arts have "run their course."

Is the perfect literary essay really what the 21st century reader, no matter how serious, wants? Who is that reader? Is it a person from the same educational background and demographic as the writer, someone who's read the same books, drives a similar car and drinks the same Scotch? If so, then we'd better start the lament, because the essay is soon to be as dead as Krystal says all the arts are. And even if we move to a new medium, the blog, we will only attract a narrow group of readers if we write the old way, the kind we learned in order to get A's, please our thesis advisor, or win publication in academic literary journals or mainstream prestige magazines.

Letting go of those goals in favor of conversation, in favor of an exchange of ideas, is a deliberate choice (and one that's no use to most writers hoping to make money from their writing.) My own motivations for writing essays on my blog (and commenting on others) are simple: to spur other people, and myself, to think more deeply and to leave open room for anyone, especially people coming from a different places and different backgrounds, to enter the conversation. Krystal agrees that act of writing essays makes him think:

Sometimes I think that I never think except when I write essays. They exercise the mind. Writing about beauty, God, sin, or the aphorism is like going to a mental gym; you firm up muscles you don’t use in your daily life. One more thing: I write essays because I like writing sentences, especially those that would probably never come into existence but for the process of writing. Those who write will know what I mean by this.

Absolutely true. But for me, it no longer stops there. I want my opinion to be challenged, enlarged, and changed. This calls me to a specific approach as a writer: the use of clear language that tries not to divide or exclude people on the basis of education, culture, or experience; a greater desire to share than to impress; a sincere openness to differing opinions; the creation of a sense of hospitality and invitation; and finally, perhaps, a sense of optimism that what we're talking about together really does matter. The blog is a much better forum for that than a print publication, but I haven't seen anyone talking specifically and seriously about the blog and the future of the essay form. Can a modern blogged essay - a postmodern essay - be an open door, and is that what we -- both writers and readers - want?
--
In the next post I'd like to explore a specific example of how this approach could play out, taking the example of Teju Cole's essay on Michael Baxandall published here on August 20, which elicited some interesting comments and a deeper email exchange with a reader about his love for -- and problems with - art criticism.

Comments

[FrScott]

Merci bien, Beth. (Ca)c'est vrais. J'essaye aussi.

[marja-leena]

A wonderful, well thought out essay, Beth! And you have always encouraged dialogue in how you write. It's no surprise that your blog was one of Mr. Blume's examples. I wrote the usual essays in my student days and none since, but I have admiration for those who do it well, especially in the blog format. A lengthier post to accommodate an essay works alright if it captivates the reader, as this one has done (or is this too short to be called an essay?).

[Robb]

Kia ora Beth
"My own motivations for writing essays on my blog (and commenting on others) are simple: to spur other people, and myself,to think more deeply and leave open room for anyone, especially people coming from a different place or different backgrounds to enter the conversation".
Thank you for those above words Beth, and for creating a place where I can feel free and safe to read and re-read, to be challenged to think, and to comment, even if I feel out of my depth at times. Reading yours, and others, blogs has not only helped me to expand my own self, but to find the courage to write my own thoughts as well.
Rangimarie,
Robb

[beth]

Merci, Scott. I'm glad you've started your own blog!

Thanks, Marja-Leena. I think a lot of people haven't written an essay since their school days. By the time I'm done with this subject, in two more posts, probably, it will be a more classic "essay length" but I don't think there's any set number of words that makes an essay. 800 is probably the minimum; if I'm talking about one topic and not going into depth, I've found I tend to write around 1200 words. I generally try to keep blog posts under that - however, this one is about 1800 and the series could be 3500-4000 words by the time I'm done. We'll see how patient the readers are - it's an experiment!

Robb, thank you -- what better reward could there be for writing than that? We all feel out of our depth at times, in different places - I remember how nervous I was the first time I left a comment on Language Hat, because I know so little about linguistics and everyone there seemed so erudite. But everybody has something to say, something to add - we're so much poorer when we don't make a big space and don't encourage one another to speak.

[ps_pirro]

Since my school days I have loved the essay. It is my preferred reading, no matter what the format. As far as blogs go, I'm probably in the minority, but I generally prefer a lengthier, "chewier" piece to a brief post, because unless the writer is as pithy as Seth Godin, most brief blog posts contain far too little information to stimulate my brainwaves.

I, too, "love those sentences that would probably never come into existence if not for the process of writing." So I am grateful to you, Beth, for ignoring convention to publish your essays online, and for offering these thoughts on the state of this chewiest of arts. I look forward to the next installment.

[Bill]

Can a modern blogged essay - a postmodern essay - be an open door

If I were a dove, this blog would be a columbary. Many, many open doors.

[Peter]

Funny, I picked up Philip Lopate’s personal essay anthology when I had some time before dinner tonight (I couldn't find the newspaper) and read two essays by Lu Hsun. At first glance, they were amost stream of consciousness, but then I started to see some things that held each of them together. His essays were more open-ended than mine normally are. Maybe I’ll try to emulate him.

Then I read your post here suggesting just this same kind of breathable writing. I raged against academic essay writing in a post about a year ago as I was working through how to teach my county’s required essays without getting the plastic writing I was used to getting with the structured, academic model you accurately describe here.

You and Lu Hsun have made me want to experiment more with essays, and you’ve reminded me (just in time; the kids come back tomorrow) of my goal of teaching essays with less artificial structure.

[Jean]

Well, this is very interesting. I think you're on to something here.

It's also very challenging to those of us who began blogging at least partly because we felt ourselves to be unfulfilled writers, but haven't quite managed to write enough, or substantively enough, on our blogs to become more fulfilled as writers. (Although, to speak for myself, I've got a huge amount out of blogging: creative stimulation, new friendships, community)

I have more to say and more thinking to do about this. I'll be following the discussion, and contributing at greater length on my own blog.

[Vivian]

Re-reading your essay this morning I felt a strong re-visitation of my take on the current presidential contest in the US and the shape it is taking, that is, that I am in danger of being swamped between a war of passivity...being a spectator who sometimes enjoys, sometimes moans and grumbles and gnashes teeth at the performance while sitting safely in the stands or on the sofa or, yes, on the internet before breakfast...or the harder task of being a participant, whether this in politics means leaving the house to discuss an idea or a choice, or in words, here for instance, to figure out how to transcend the performer/spectator thing and become community. In this context, Beth, your conversations with Mounir are e/captured the quantum difference between the noises spectators make and the responses humans make to each other. The former deadens, it turns the "object of attention" into something that can't really respond or change, even if it was once alive; the latter gives life. This said, action involves risk of allsorts. Must keep reminding self that inaction is also a decision with moral consequences. (Talking to self now, will desist). Vivian

[Rana]

Absolutely true. But for me, it no longer stops there. I want my opinion to be challenged, enlarged, and changed. This calls me to a specific approach as a writer: the use of clear language that tries not to divide or exclude people on the basis of education, culture, or experience; a greater desire to share than to impress; a sincere openness to differing opinions; the creation of a sense of hospitality and invitation; and finally, perhaps, a sense of optimism that what we're talking about together really does matter.

Yes. I have trouble with that "sense of optimism" sometimes, but with the rest, I agree whole-heartedly.

[Tori]

This piece is lovely, strong, thought provoking. But I've found it more so of all three than I can fully explain. Thanks for it.

[Lucy]

Beth, thanks for stopping by at mine, and for your good wishes. I feel I've rather neglected you here too!

I think I can identify with Jean's words on this, about starting blogging to fulfill a dormant or supressed desire to write, finding it initially satisfying, but then that I'm unable to fulfill that obligation to myself. I don't particularly feel I'm challenging myself or anyone else on the blog at the moment, and the very best writing on others(and I'd entirely endorse Mr Blume's opinions on where that's to be found...) is at once inspiring and disheartening.

I'm sorry, I seem to be somewhat negative here, and in the absence of anything more intelligent to say, should perhaps say nothing, only this was such a fine, engaging essay, I did want to chip in...

I am quite good at telling other people that blogging is for pleasure, and should not foster guilt and a sense of inadequacy, but am perhaps not so good at taking my own advice! But I suppose there is a place for the sporadic and dilettantish as well as the others! And of course there's more to this than writing excellence and challenge, community and friendship also matter.

[Jean]

Ahem, is that the Lucy whose photographs, poetry and longer writing fill me with awe and envy of all the different directions in which her creativity has flowered since she started blogging? I guess this frustration with ourselves is an essential part of the creative impulse. Good to be reminded of what we might do and haven't yet - as Beth does here, but not good to beat ourselves up about it (which I do too, of course).

[Dick]

An excellent example, Beth, of that which Bob Harris claims to be unable to locate. He should give the staffer who did his research for him a good kicking!

(And I'm with Jean re Lucy!)

[sadie]

A wonderful piece. You've expressed something here that really matters to me; for, while my own blog is of quite a different stripe, the wish to create "a sense of hospitality and invitation; and finally, perhaps, a sense of optimism that what we're talking about together really does matter" drives it as well. And I believe this is what drives most of the blogs I return to time and again. Thank you for putting it so well. ~sadie

[Gabby]

wow, excellent essay! I really love it. I think blogging is an "essay" in many ways, following the idea given by the french verb.
I think the experiences change from country to country, and it also changes depending in what kind of "circles" you move.
Many of the writers that blogs in Argentina wrote them and wrote essays not "willing to descend from the marble pedestals" beacuse they said they have never been there :) BUT the fact is that in some cases the commenters, i.e., the readers make for them a new pedestal.

Anyway, the way to do conceive an essay for a blog is, I think, what is really new. Or how a simple post on literature, art, music could (if you put all together post and comments) become an essay.

I'm really enjoying your blog! Woohoo!