Posts by tag: literary canon

“A breach of judgment of an unforgivable kind”

Tendency, counter-tendency: list-mania, list-aversion. They’re both out there, all over my RSS feed.

Listening to audio of Douglas Glover’s interview of Gordon Lish from 1994, I was surprised as all hell to hear Lish saying this kind of thing. Granted, I perhaps ought not to be surprised, given Lish’s reputation for having an inflexible and uncompromising personality… but, my god, a falling out over a few differences in one’s personal canon?!

“Bloom and I had been great, good pals for a number of years; and that friendship came to a very abrupt end, not without relation to a list of writers he proposed special attention be accorded, and given that that list included on it rather robustly non-Bardic poets of the order of Rita Dove, and failed to cite Jack Gilbert for example, I found a breach of judgment of an unforgivable kind. Such a breach was one of not a few of same, and I didn’t feel I could maintain relations with Bloom with honor. […] I could not let myself keep myself in a friendly relation to him subsequent to the list that he, for whatever reasons that he was persuaded to publish it, did publish.” (Lish’s remarks, around the 8:00 mark in part 1 of the audio)

There’s boldness for you. Whether Lish’s coldness towards Bloom is a kind of literary snobbism, or an honorable attempt to live by his rigorous standards, I don’t know. Snobbism mostly, it strikes me. What do you think?

Fiction of the sixties

At his blog, D.G. Myers has a pretty damn good long bibliography of American fiction of the sixties (+600 titles). This period in American publishing seems to have been an unprecedented explosion of literary innovation, and it seems equally overlooked by those who are enthusiastic and by those who deplore the state of literary fiction in America today.

An awful lot of forgotten authors in there, although – as Daniel Green pointed out on Twitter – a few are still missing: Ronald Sukenick, Gilbert Sorrentino, Rudolph Wurlitzer, Marguerite Young, William Goyen, Richard Farina… Even I had to remind Myers of Harry Mathew’s place in there, one of the greatest living American writers in my book. No such bibliography, the moral may be, can ever be complete.