Issue 36 of the Dublin Review is out – it’s been out for a week or so, but I had to wait for the link. As usual, some good-looking nonfiction:
Adrian Frazier
“A single beautiful poison pill”
The first debate over Yeats’s most disturbing play [essay]
Selina Guinness
“The universal soldier”
Eduardo Rósza-Flores, Michael Dwyer and the mysterious killings in Bolivia [reportage]
Carol Taaffe
“Its form and buttons”
Ireland’s new blasphemy law – and its archaic constitution [essay]
Eibhear Walshe
“No abiding city”
Elizabeth Bowen at loose ends [essay]
I can’t be trusted when it comes to the Dublin Review, because I’m biased. But I liked it – and recognized it as the only literary journal in Ireland worth reading – long before I was biased. You would simply have to have no taste at all, or have a harmful obsession with bad poetry, to argue that anything on this island is comparable.
I never read the stories. And the memoir stuff I usually glance through. But the strength is the essay, and the reportage – the likes of which you can’t get anywhere else, since nobody publishes long non-fiction in print in Ireland by the writers DR can attract.
I like the fact that you find very good writers engaging with something besides themselves. Montaigne wrote about himself, but the self was never his subject. It was merely the unavoidable and flawed medium through which a subject was explored.
I am fascinated, fascinated, fascinated, that so many fiction writers exist, and so little good fiction. I am fascinated that we revere, in our literary purchases, the reproducible, the endless exercise of empty formal innovation, the pathetic man, the helpless woman. The overflow of aspiring fiction writers can only be described as the great inadvertent autobiography of our age – the pathetic rise of a self-obsessed humanity that communicates in two ways: empty jargon by day, and outbursts of hot, wet emotion by night.
The problem is more complex; I am only ranting. What I have seen, as a teacher of writing, is that there is, conscious or not, a belief that fiction is something like a holy act, that it requires the attitude and effort of an artist, not an average man on the street. That it must have sentences, and sentences are exclusive to geniuses.
Writing essays helps begin the process of eradication of this illusion. But few want to write them; too many revere themselves above all subjects. They use subjects to explore themselves.
I always find the ‘From the Editor’ posts on Some Blind Alleys interesting – usually they aggravate me, actually, but this is no bad thing. There’s a real sense that writers are coming together under the umbrella of the site and talking and mobilising, and it feels like Some Blind Alleys is going to play an important part in the ongoing debate on the future of the arts in Ireland. This post, however, bothers me a little more than usual, so much so that I feel compelled to respond. I’m very much still a beginner writer, and am in no way qualified to enter into this debate. But I still want to enter into it, and I think and hope that you want responses on this matter – fiction vs. non-fiction, that is – since you seem to bring it up a lot.
I am trying to understand what the point of this post is, and finding I can’t. You would simply have to have no taste at all, or have a harmful obsession with bad poetry, to argue that anything on this island is comparable, you write, and claim that The Dublin Review is the only literary journal in Ireland worth reading.
Worth what? And for whom? Yes, the quality of writing is much higher than is evident in other publications, but the Dublin Review is, after all, a different kind of publication. It does not seek to attract new writers, it does not wish to promote short stories or poetry, it does not aim to engage with experienced and occasional readers alike. So I don’t see how it is fair to compare. Surely there should be a place in Ireland for all different levels of writing or useful attempts at creativity?
Of course I would say this, because if there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be writing at all. As I say, I’m a beginner, and my own creative attempts are frankly embarrassing. But the writing community – whatever that means – is at least allowing me to try. I don’t believe that everyone deserves to be published, in some shape or form; after all, a writer must have talent. But there are different levels of talent. Not everyone is good enough to be published in the Dublin Review (or in Some Blind Alleys, for that matter), but surely that doesn’t make all other publications redundant.
I find your position on fiction and non-fiction a little confusing. On the one hand, I am thrilled to see non-fiction being promoted, and I think you’re right to concentrate almost exclusively on non-fiction and translations. That’s what sets your site apart.
But sometimes you seem to be saying that non-fiction is the only brave literary form, that fiction writers display a cowardly lack of honesty. The idea that non-fiction is, if truthful and open, inherently free of cliché or guile, is one that you seem to be promoting, and one I don’t understand. Of course, you are entitled to your opinion, and since any kind of literary debate interests me, I am glad to hear it voiced.
I am a recent convert to fiction, actually, having dismissed it for so many years. The form has started to intrigue me a little more, and perhaps this is why I am defending it – because I haven’t yet ‘solved’ how it works. Now I believe that it is far more difficult to write good fiction than it is to write good non-fiction. The reader of fiction already knows that the author is a phony, because the artifice, the process, is so much closer to the surface. The writer and the writing are that much more vulnerable. Fiction has seams. The writer of fiction has to use every trick there is to make those seams invisible.
But the writer of non-fiction is also up to tricks.
I believe that the reason why fiction has a wider audience than the personal essay is this: because fiction sugarcoats the opinions and truths the essayist strives towards. Good fiction sweeps those opinions along in the tide of its stories. It brings the reader, despite himself, to the author’s truths; it brings them there almost incidentally. Despite the fact that the essayist is a vacillator who frequently interrogates or even undermines the ‘truth’ that she appears, in the course of the essay, to propose, the savvy reader may still experience a sense of being dragged kicking and screaming towards a conclusion (however, well, inconclusive that conclusion may be). Or, at the very least, the experienced reader sits down to read an essay in the awareness that he is making a commitment to a piece of writing that will aim to convince, if not of something, then, indeed, of someone; even if that “I” may be variously dismissive, contemplative, confrontational, scathing, or bewildered within the course of the same essay.
This does not mean that I think fiction is ‘better’ than non-fiction, or poetry, or translation, or any of the written arts. I don’t. I just think that this is perhaps why it attracts more readers and writers. And why I don’t understand why you dismiss it in the way that you do, even while I applaud your calling shenanigans on a particularly Irish type of writing mentality.
Let me say that I admire this site. Design-wise, it seems to me to stand a head and shoulders above any other Irish production. I am so impressed that you are giving a platform to translators and translations. I work very closely with translators in my day job, and I can state that the work they do is incredibly difficult and that their skills are undervalued. I took translation classes myself for four years at college, and these classes taught me more about how texts are constructed than anything else I can think of. Translation is one of the most delicate and difficult of art forms, and it’s encouraging to see that you are helping to give it its day in the sun.
This is a great comment and hopefully it gets some discussion going – if not here, then among the people who read SBA. Thanks for the contribution, and please keep coming back.
Ali, you make some very good points. A couple where I would like to delve deeper:
1. “It does not seek to attract new writers, it does not wish to promote short stories or poetry, it does not aim to engage with experienced and occasional readers alike.”
This is a fair description of the Dublin Review. These attributes appear to be things you would personally seek out in a journal or literary magazine to make it ‘worth reading’ for you. The trouble is that publications such as those you describe in Ireland are flat, dull, uninspiring publications that contain writing that is helpful to no-one. You say that as a beginner writer, you would like that there be a publication out there that tried to ‘engage with experienced and occassional readers alike’. But experience doesn’t even enter into it. There is good writing and there is bad writing. Bad writing is not helping anybody, especially not beginner writers and if you consume the sort of publication that prints sub-standard writing (fiction, poetry, essays, whatever) presented in the manner of ‘appealing to everybody’ then you are setting the bar too low for yourself. Of course, this is just the case in Ireland, it just so happens that the only publication that is printing writing of quality (regardless of its genre) is the Dublin Review.
You say “Surely there should be a place in Ireland for all different levels of writing or useful attempts at creativity?” – Should there be magazines and publications that print substandard writing in order to make beginner writers and those starting out feel less intimidated? Certainly not.
2. “But sometimes you seem to be saying that non-fiction is the only brave literary form, that fiction writers display a cowardly lack of honesty. The idea that non-fiction is, if truthful and open, inherently free of cliché or guile, is one that you seem to be promoting, and one I don’t understand.”
I agree here. Fiction shouldn’t be seen as a cowardly lack of honesty but rather as a freedom of imagination that often gives the writer not a screen to hide behind, but a powerful platform for delving into the absurd, the fantastical, into that which has and may never happen in everyday life. Take the self out of fiction and it becomes something more credible entirely. Poor fiction is that which is a mask for what would have been a braver personal essay (and it has taken me some years to actually realise this). There is a lot of bad fiction out there and it is a result of too many workshopped writers, too many writers telling one other how to write a story and too many rules being followed. Certainly the good fiction on this site is that which embraces the unusual and is so far from cliche as to never have even heard of the term.
Anyway, what I really think I’m saying is that fiction doesn’t deserve the bad rap it gets on this blog sometimes – there just happens to be a lot of bad fiction out there. That is not to say that it is a lesser form or that it cannot hold the same power as an essay. It has simply been let down by bad writers. And it is a disservice to some of the writers of good fiction on this site to seem to say that their work is not as artistically valuable as that of their essay writing counterparts.
Having said that, I appreciate the zero tolerance policy this site holds when it comes to bad fiction. A zero tolerance policy for ‘empty jargon and hot, wet emotion’, regardless of whether it is presented in essay or fiction form, might be a fairer approach.
“Bad writing is not helping anybody, especially not beginner writers and if you consume the sort of publication that prints sub-standard writing (fiction, poetry, essays, whatever) presented in the manner of ‘appealing to everybody’ then you are setting the bar too low for yourself.”
Hi Helen,
Thanks for your response – good to see another long post, it was feeling a little lonely there!
What I was really trying to point out – and I realise I didn’t make this clear in my comment above – is not what I want from a literary journal or what would make me feel less intimidated, but why the reasons already stated in the blog post for why the DR is worth reading (the reportage, the international writers, the long essays) are the reasons why it cannot be compared it to other publications, Irish or otherwise. The Dublin Review has a completely different agenda. Other editors of other publications may love fiction, or poetry, and seek to promote those forms. The Dublin Review is different. Whether it’s better is not quite the point. (It is, but there’s not much use in a poet, for example, submitting to the DR when the journal doesn’t consider poems. Yes, the poet should still be reading the Dublin Review, but you can’t blame him for also seeking out journals that publish poetry.)
Maybe bad and lazy writing is endemic in this country, I don’t know. I don’t get the impression that writers are smugly resting on their laurels (tormented by their own limitations seems like a fairer description to me), but even if they are, it’s not up to me to worry about them. I can only say that yelling j’accuse at other writers does not help me at all. I need to first and foremost keep my own house in order by reading lots and writing what I can. If I’m not smart enough, in the end, to judge whether my own writing is a good or a great or a could do better, the fault is my own, through lack of dedication or simply lack of talent.
The good will out. The good writers, the best writers, the mature writers who deserve it, will still get published in places like the Dublin Review. The others won’t but they will still keep writing. We don’t need to keep pointing out to them how bad they are. I’m just glad that they – that we, I include myself – are bothering to write at all. That’s what I mean about useful attempts at creativity, I suppose. We have seen what happens to this country when everyone wishes to become a property developer. Writing is far less dangerous. (Or is it…?)
One last thing. I think experienced reading is important, if not in the way I originally thought I meant. It isn’t quite as simple as good writing and bad writing. The older I get the more I am finding that writers and writing I once believed to be useless are in fact the most surprising of all. Similarly, I am finding that writers and writing I once lionized are, well, really bad. Of course, it’s always subjective, but I do think that the more one looks the more one knows what to look for.
One final little thing (I will stop soon). I have a problem with this word cliché that is bandied about so often. What does cliché even mean? (Its literal translation is ‘snapshot’, I believe.) Is it not a cliché to call something clichéd? Saying that something is clichéd doesn’t tell me anything – I’d rather hear specifics instead of blithe dismissals.
I think I’ve well and truly gone off topic now, and haven’t in the least responded. Forgive me, I’m generating thoughts as I write, but I am finding this all very interesting.
“ A zero tolerance policy for ‘empty jargon and hot, wet emotion’, regardless of whether it is presented in essay or fiction form, might be a fairer approach.” I cannot agree more! (But I must admit I am secretly intrigued by what ‘hot, wet emotion’ might sound like …)
Cheers,
Ali
“It does not seek to attract new writers, it does not wish to promote short stories or poetry, it does not aim to engage with experienced and occasional readers alike.”
I’m going to have to call this one out. It doesn’t wish to promote poetry, but it does have three short stories in this issue.
It’s got three essays, one piece of reportage, and one memoir. It has zero personal essays.
This suggests that it’s promoting the essay equally with the short story, and the story more than the personal essay.
And I would argue, as well, that the whole point of the Dublin Review is that is is targeted at educated and occasional readers alike. It is extremely readable. That accusation – that it does not suit occasional readers – is more appropriate for Irish Pages, which is much heavier on scholarship and promotes poetry. I don’t think the editor of IP would argue that he is seeking a loftier realm of literary/artistic discussion (in fact, he told me so), and whatever is intended is, of course, perfectly fine.
The editor of DR publishes very interesting essays – importantly he publishes all types of essays, and personal essays represent only a fraction of that (memoir is far more prevalent). I also think the editor of Dublin Review loves fiction, or that he must, since he publishes quite a lot of it. Start looking through the archives. He publishes A LOT of fiction.
My guess is that a lot of people have expectations about the content of DR but too few have investigated the reality. It’s fun to read. That’s about all there is that needs to be said.
One of my first ever stories was published in DR, back in 2004, when I had almost no publications to my name. I happen to know that other newcomers have been published in DR. So this seems to suggest that he – the editor – is looking for new writers.
Great to see these things being discussed. Quick point of fact — I edit The Dublin Review and while it is true that we don’t publish poetry I am happy to confirm (pace Ali and Helen) that we do seek to attract new writers and that we do publish short stories (which account for three of the eight pieces in the current issue). If there is anything (in the magazine, on our website or anywhere else) that gives a contrary impression, I’d be grateful to hear about it so that the impression can be corrected. I’d hate to think that anyone is holding off from sending work to DR because they think it won’t be considered on its merits. Like every other editor I’m aware of, nothing excites me more than coming across a new talent. DR has published a substantial number of writers I’d never encountered before reading their submissions — and the vast majority of their pieces, as it happens, have been short stories. Some of these writers have gone on to publish books with great success, some have continued publishing in DR and other little magazines, and some have seemingly disappeared — but the one thing they have in common is that I thought their work was worth our readers’ time and money. Again, if we’re unintentionally sending out any contrary message, I’d be very grateful to hear about it.
Hi Brendan,
Great to hear from you.
Well, now that I think about it properly, you (and Greg) are right about the fiction, of course – there have been lots of stories in the Dublin Review. It’s just that’s not what I tend to associate the publication with. When I see there’s a new copy of the DR out, I think ‘awesome, new non-fiction’. I enjoy all of the pieces, fiction and non-fiction, but I suppose the fact that there are – as Greg has said – so few outlets for longer non-fiction is what makes it stand out for me.
Maybe that’s just me – maybe other readers are drawn to it *because* of the fiction, and maybe other new writers feel just as able to submit to the DR as they do anywhere else. (What kind of editor, indeed, would not be interested in new talent?)
The fact that I don’t (yet) isn’t because you are putting out a negative image regarding new writers – it’s more that when I see the quality of the writing you publish, I know myself that my own work is not ready.
Ali –
“I can only say that yelling j’accuse at other writers does not help me at all. I need to first and foremost keep my own house in order by reading lots and writing what I can. ”
Excellent point, and I don’t think anyone could argue with that.
Good to see such vibrant activity on the SBA discussion boards. Little disappointed my comments didn’t get a response, as I’m still somewhat confused by the quotes I was questioning above.
Is fiction really better without the self? Surely that contradicts some of the work that has been posted on this site. For example, Nick Zelasko’s last piece. Take out the She-Wolf and you’ve got the guts of a personal essay. Am I wrong in saying this?
And I’ve always found workshops beneficial to writing, for my reasons outlined above. Please can someone explain how and why they are seen to be bad.
“A healthy audience suspects you as a fraud, or has no innate interest in you.”
That’s what a workshop can’t offer you. Workshops are neither good, nor bad. They’re artificial. They can build your confidence, they can keep you writing to deadlines, they can support you while you still feel weak, but they don’t make you a better writer (in some cases, if you rest on your laurels, they might even make you a bad writer). Writing is an individual event. You get better at it by writing (even badly) and by reading the best writing out there. I don’t need anybody to tell me how good or bad my writing is. I know just by reading the classics.
Brian,
Referring to your example in the previous post:
I guess, I don’t see or know why a She – wolf could NOT be in a personal essay?
If your definition of non-fiction, say, is something that must be believeable to you, then, I feel you are reducing these notions in a suffocating and crude way.
If you think a piece non-fiction is fictional, that’s okay, you can just discard the author in question, without any impact on your opinion of the genre or indeed that particular piece’s place in the genre.
I know very, very little about the art of writing so I won’t expand further on this point.
Regarding writing & workshop groups, I don’t think they are necessarily a bad thing, however, I believe that they definitely have a very, very short shelf life; or else they can cement and reinforce rigid opinions like:
“I’ve always found workshops helpful and essential to improving as a writer.”
and
the above referenced she-wolf in / not in essay example.
Yes, writing and reading are more important, definitely.
However writing is rewriting. And for me, other people’s opinions play an important role in that. Ideally I like workshops to be harsh and critical, not artificial and full of praise. I hate that. And I think it makes poor workshops. I just want to know what they think needs to be improved.
However, the best a workshop can do is tell you what it thinks is wrong. They are not always right. The writer has to remember they know the story better than anyone else. And although they should listen to everything and consider all suggestions, it is up to them to evaluate and decide what is relevant and what is not.
Adrian, I think my point was lost in the clutter of the thread. I have nothing against she-wolves anywhere…in fact I kinda like she-wolves – fiction or non-fiction.
I was referring to a comment which was about that “self” must be excluded from fiction to be good. And my point was simply that there are some very good stories on this site, which contradict that point – “I am the winding and twisting and mist-spitting god of freedom” – being my example. There is a lot of personal self in that story and it is very good.
She-wolves are deadly.
Your point about workshops stagnating with set opinions over time is probably very true too.