For a very long time I had believed (I have believed?) that there was some intrinsic value to language used well. An idea expressed clearly and well seemed more believable or persuasive or true or than one half-formed or blurted out incoherently. But this assumption of mine is only an assumption. It hasn’t been subject to cross-examination or logical analysis. I realize now that I’ve not tested it. (more…)
Facebook means that now I can get little updates from virtual strangers, usually written as if everyone reading was intimately familiar with the details of their current lives.
“Oh, that’s just a regular night at Spolmans.”
“Can’t believe what Jilby did on this week’s panel! : P”
“I am sooo excited about the start of DFWBSE! This year it’s understanding!”
It was that last one that got me. What the hell is DFWBSE?1 And what does it understand now that it couldn’t grasp in 2008? Google, the first and last refuge of a scoundrel who wants to seem knowledgeable, only confused the issue… (more…)
I’m currently working on a book layout for OFF_press. Sometimes I prepare written materials for printing. It’s one of those things I do from time to time, like calisthenics, recycling, or eating a whole large pizza in one sitting. Anyway, the point is that I’m currently thinking about what makes a book readable. Not about the text inside, but about the letters on the page, the sheets of paper inside the cover, and how they should all be arranged and assembled for ease of reading. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with my thoughts on the use of italics to indicate dialogue, or the increased use of the ellipsis.
But it occurred to me that books are tangible items with at least one intended use; books are tools. Which means that a reasonably perceptive person could deduce something about our culture, and perhaps about our species, from the way these tools are made, presented and used. A well-thumbed novel from the used bookstore says something entirely different than a hardback dictionary with a dent in the front from supporting a short-legged couch. A Greyhound bus ticket left in as a bookmark is not the same as an expired commuter rail pass.
Take a look at whatever book you’ve got handy. How has it been put together? How did it get to you, and what do you do with it? When future archaeologists dig us up, what is that book going to tell them about you?
Over the last two weeks or so I’ve been busy with arranging some publicity efforts for an literary anthology I’m involved with. Something about publicizing writing seems to cause a near-allergic reaction in people who feel themselves to be artistes of one sort or another.
Yes, the business of drawing attention to something can often lack dignity. But without the attention, what hope does the art have of being appreciated? If a performance artist throws pig blood and Lego blocks in the forest and no one sees, is it art?
Maybe the question should be, “Is it art that communicates anything?”
[retrieved and republished 20 August 2009]