Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Read this excerpt from Svetlana Alexievich's book "Secondhand Time."

I had problem with my laptop. So, in stead of working on my new novel - this is my first thing to do in the morning these days --I read this excerpt by Svetlana Alexievich. Oh, how intriguing! Hers is a special genre, and I can't say I like it always. As for example, I could not finish her Voices From Chernobyl. It's way too grim and morbid, though necessarily, for my taste. But this one I liked very much.  She can write something compelling on modern, capitalistic way of life also. Read it and take note of her brilliance and objectivity. 

Sunday, May 15, 2016

No to Literary Fiction, Yes to Porn

I've spent years writing books. Novels, no less. And for what? I'm turning my hand to the one thing that pays. Sex.

Lydia Millet

Ever since I read Lydia Millet's article in the Salon, I have been thinking about the shape of literature and plight of writers in this digital age.. So when does a serious writer of literary fiction want to write porn? Is the situation really that bad? Did she write this piece out of frustration or desperation? Is she really going to churn out a porn next time? 

I wish she had not written it. It's shocking for those of us who write literary fiction. Of course, lit fiction has small audience and its authors earn peanuts from their writing. But what's the use of talking about it in this way? If you don't want to write lit fic, it's okay. If you want to leave it for porn, go for it. It's your taste, your choice.

Money seems to be your main concern, Lydia.  We have sympathy for you, but porn is never the alternative for lit fic, even if you make money out of it (I strongly doubt it though) and you undermine the value of literature by stating this. This is atrocious and shameful.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Future of Literature

"The shortening of attention spans have been abetted by a publishing industry that is eradicating from literature anything they want to make us believe is too boring, or too meaningful, or that might come across as intellectual. And the outlook, from a literary point of view—if such a point of view still exists—is bleak.

“And why is it that writers, more than other people, are susceptible to depression?” someone asks in a Mario Levrero story. And someone else says: “They become depressed because they can’t tolerate the idea of living in a world that has been ruined by stupid people.”

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