Don't Think Twice, Sunday Is Just All Right

 Up before 5 AM, feeling peppier than I have. I started working on the email and now blog posts. The Guardian's book review newsletter came in.

I have been many wrong places online. Let me get that out right now. The internet is not what it might have been. A theory I have is that too much of an online life leads us into behavior we would not do off the computer. I came to that theory between my arrest and January 6, 2021. It may be the latter disproves my theory. Today, I am far more careful of how much time I spend online, of what links I follow trying to find the end of the line. 

All that is preface to The Guardian's ‘We’re gripped by graphomania’: why writing became an online contagion and how we can contain it. I had thought it might be about the explosion of online fiction and other writing. It is not quite that.

Famously, this is not a healthy situation: for our selves or our societies. There was a short period around the time of the apparent Arab spring when it seemed possible that the internet and its social media could become forces of liberation. In his book The Chaos Machine, journalist Max Fisher tells the story of the moment where this proposition was finally dismantled – in Myanmar in 2013, when the internet was suddenly visited on a country that until then had no experience of it. The then executive chairman of Google, Eric Schmidt, talking in Yangon, solemnly observed that “the internet, once in place, guarantees that communication and empowerment become the law and the practice of your country”. In the same speech he added: “The answer to bad speech is more speech.” What then happened was that the era of writing took over – writing that, on the platforms of the internet, rewarded propaganda, fake accounts and fabular violence, until eventually the violence became real and the genocide of the Rohingya began. Not, of course, that this sudden explosion of bad speech was the only reason for the horror. But still: it turned out that, in the era of digital graphomania, more speech was not necessarily desirable. Or perhaps more precisely, it’s possible that all that will follow bad speech will be more bad speech.

If everyone publishes in a constant process of self-presentation, then this self will become more and more extreme in its opinions, and society will correspondingly become more fractured and more vulnerable to acts of violence. This is one possibility. Another is that an era of graphomania has to be an era of manic reading, which leads to even more graphomania, as people write their opinions concerning other people’s writing. If everyone is a writer, then at the same time everyone is a critic – and so each person’s self stops being an interior, and instead becomes more mutant, produced by the words of other people.

Fourteen years ago, I had an image in my head of myself as a hamster in a wheel – and the wheel kept speeding up. I sense that same image here: caught on a wheel and its speed only increase; going nowhere except away from contemplation. 

The article also delves into history – once again, history shows our commonality of behavior:

If all writing, then, is now a form of contagion and addiction, how might it be possible to form a linguistic resistance? One clue to an escape route could be to look backwards, to other moments from history. Because if parallels or overlaps can be found, this could point towards potential reasons for hope. And one of these parallel moments, I think, could be a scene that developed towards the end of the 18th century.

In the decade before the revolution in France, a group of exiled Parisian writers based in London produced a series of pamphlets and libels, nearly all of which were about the women of the French aristocracy and the secrets of their sexual lives. Not just celebrities such as Marie Antoinette or Madame de Pompadour, but anyone who once might have been rumoured to be one of their friends, like the Duchess of Bouillon or the Duchess of Polignac. These exiled writers weren’t highbrow or celebrated or august. They weren’t published intellectuals like Voltaire or Diderot. They had the vanished names of Charles Théveneau de Morande or Louis Pierre Manuel or Louis-Sébastien Mercier. They presented themselves as radicals, as satirists of a corrupt and unjust regime – and in a way these dissident claims were true. Certainly they created an atmosphere where anything could be subjected to violence, and therefore, in a way created the possibility of revolution.

And there is a proposed answer:

To undo some of our graphomania’s mutual traps of extremism and anxiety might just need a change in emphasis – a proliferation of small-scale writing that, like those communications between 18th-century women, is tonally unsure, based in uncertainty, in the quizzical and delightedly ambiguous. And if this kind of writing can’t algorithmically flourish via the platforms of social media then perhaps it needs a corresponding change in distribution, for example the zines and miniature books put out by new publishers including Nieves and isolarii, Prototype and Book Works. Or the gentler media of newsletters and mailouts, the book clubs put together by A Public Space, beginning with Yiyun Li beautifully reading Tolstoy among a community of readers, or Ann Kjellberg’s Book Post, a collection of carefully edited reviews.

Of course, this isn’t the only form of resistance, or the only historical moment to think about. There are so many silences to recover. But if we want to envisage a more utopian ideal of writing to replace our graphomania, we need to go back into the archives, and listen.

I would like to think this blog is a bit of resistance to this kind of writing. The posts do vary – there are some meant to provoke a comment (hasn't worked) and those I hope will lead to further reading (judging by the posts which lead to other posts or people examining my archives by subject, this has not happened) – but my idea here is mini-essays, not bomb throwing. I do suggest not so much time online, staying away from “social” media.

That article seems to echo in Michelle Cyca's The Inescapable Rise of Moral Superiority: Why does every online discussion terminate in ethical grandstanding? as published in The Walrus.

It turns out this phenomenon has a name: moral grandstanding. In their book Grandstanding: The Use and Abuse of Moral Talk, philosophers Justin Tosi and Brandon Warmke argue that we often raise issues of justice and equity not to advance meaningful social causes but to generate positive attention for ourselves by denigrating others. Sometimes this involves piling on—joining a Greek chorus of reproachful replies without contributing anything new—or exaggerating one’s moral outrage for dramatic value. In doing so, we dilute the impact of critical ethical issues and foreclose the possibility of productive public discourse. The goal is not to understand but to win. Grandstanding is not just about demonstrating that your position is right but that your opponent’s position—and, by extension, their moral character—is wrong. What was the original point? Who cares: you are ethically bankrupt and here’s why.

***

Tosi and Warmke argue that grandstanding contributes to the increasingly divisive political spectrum, with real-world implications that are far more concerning than a bunch of chronically online social media users yelling at each other about burgers. North Americans are more polarized than ever, with less and less capacity to find common ground or shared humanity across political parties. And politically charged moral arguments can engender real harm against marginalized groups in the real world, as when the spectre of child abuse is invoked to justify the harassment and violence targeting LGBTQ2S+ communities. This allows moral grandstanding to be weaponized as rhetorical cover for cruelty and harassment; no reasonable person can conclude that yelling about drag shows outside a public library makes children safer in any way. These real-world actions are a manifestation of moralized outrage that has become routine online, and key messages have gained a degree of credibility through sheer repetition. 

On a different tack, but also from The Guardian: A translated man; Salman Rushdie's early novels electrified British fiction and the publishing industry in the 1980s. And then there was the fatwa. He is still creating sparks on both sides of the Atlantic (2006). I wish I had read this back in 2006, I would not have felt so guilty about John Updike.

Reviewing Salman Rushdie's latest novel, Shalimar the Clown, in the New Yorker last year, John Updike opened with a rhetorical question that would make any writer's heart sink: "Why, oh why, did Salman Rushdie in his new novel call one of his major characters Maximilian Ophuls?" Updike promised to spare readers the "maddening exercise" of trying to "overlay" Rushdie's Ophuls "with the historical one", the German-born actor and director who made the name famous in the 1940s and 50s. "The two have no connection."

Rushdie, whose general good humour is tested by mention of the article, says, "A name is just a name. 'Why, oh why ... ?' Well, why not? Somewhere in Las Vegas there's probably a male prostitute called 'John Updike'. The thing that disappointed me most about Updike is that he did not say in that review that he had just completed a novel about terrorism. He had to sweep me out of the way in order to make room for himself. I don't subscribe to the very predominantly English admiration of Updike. If you take away Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest, and some of the short stories, there's a lot of ... slightly ... garbage. Think of The Coup! The new one [Terrorist] is beyond awful. He should stay in his parochial neighbourhood and write about wife-swapping, because it's what he can do."

Good humour is visibly restored. "I'm allowed to say it, because he was really rude about me."

I had felt guilty about not reading Updike. I think I had Rabbit Run in my books, and I know I had Pigeon Feathers. Prison gave me a chance to read the Rabbit Angstrom books and Salman Rushdie. I recall my reaction to Updike as the novels were of a particular time, a community not much different than my own, and almost historical novels. I think I did like The Terrorist better. As for one Big Name Author to whom I felt more affinity culturally, it was Philip Roth, whose Newark is a factory town. But Rushdie was a breath of fresh air.

MW sent me this video days ago, which may tell you how far I am behind in getting to stuff in my email. A crisis in time management.

Forget about what other people might think, concentrate on the story. Good advice. The kind I should keep in mind! 

Although today's Merriam-Webster Word of the Day feels ill-omened, when thinking of my writing.

MW also sent Sweet Darkness: Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness 

Some interesting views on Trump in Iowa in Trump should stop insulting Iowans:

A real leader would humbly engage with our state's people and our state's leaders. They wouldn't be afraid to answer our governor's questions. They wouldn't duck and cover from a "Fair Side Chat," where Iowans get to hear from a potential future president directly.

In other words: You don't win points with Iowans by phoning it in for the Iowa Republican caucus.

Trump's refusal to participate in the Fair Side chat comes on the heels of him berating the host. He's attacked Gov. Reynolds for supporting pro-life policies, and belittled her mercilessly for simply doing what a Republican leader in Iowa should do: Staying neutral as the primary moves forward, and allowing Iowa voters to decide their Republican Presidential nominee.

Let's put this bluntly: With such open hostility for someone so well regarded in our state, Trump revealed a petty vindictiveness unbecoming of a former president. It still is deeply disappointing to those of us who used to support him. He's attacking someone who has capably led this state, and in doing so, he's spitting in the faces of Iowa Republicans who have stood with him through thick and thin.

Does this mean that Iowan Republicans will start seeing the vindictiveness of Trump? That he sees them as tools from which he expects only obedience? Or will they just do like good masochistic serfs and ask for more abuse from der Trump? 

To push them along to freedom, they should listen to Betty Lavette doing Bob Dylan:

Also, from The Walrus, How to Fit into the Publishing World by Annahid Dashtgard. Another reminder that everywhere there is the problem of those who do not look like us fitting in that I touched on in my post Words Matter. Treat others as you would have them treat you.

7:19 AM and the sun is coming up, and I promised myself a bike ride.

Instead of a bike ride, the pep ran out. I napped, longer than expected. A dream that I was due back in Fort Dix and sleepiness had made me tardy and a barely missing a car wreck and taking a shortcut through a hotel woke me close to 9 AM.

Then I went on the bike ride. Neither lungs nor legs quite up to the task I want them to be.

Worked on a few posts and did a little reading before going to Dollar General. That was a little after noon. McClure's was out of diet Coke yesterday. I noticed Dollar General has begun stocking Halloween candy and supplies. I got back here about an hour ago.

Since then, I have read:

1. Celo Qian's Chicken. Film. Youth. from The Sun. Just as I was about to give, when I was wondering why this story of twenty-somethings L.A. area professionals should interest me, it got weird and very interesting. A study of the point where growing up and grown up meet.
2. Shawna Green's Making Do from Half and One had me from the first line: “I know why.” A story of what just making do does to people.
3. Laura Miller's profile of James McBride Great American Novelist, (Slate) is one I wholly agree with, even thought I have only read Deacon King Kong. McBride is a writer you should track down – which you will do – I think after you read the whole profile:

Maybe, once, the most urgent stories Americans had to tell one another were about the possibilities and challenges of each person realizing their own distinct self. But today, the bigger challenge seems to be figuring out how so many different people—espousing so many diverse and sometimes conflicting identities, histories, and beliefs—can become one people without denying those identities, histories, and beliefs. McBride and I talked about how small-town life in places like Chicken Hill accentuates this dilemma because, unlike the ever-shifting landscape of bespoke online communities, the neighbors you find objectionable aren’t going anywhere. They can’t be blocked or muted or curated out of the picture. You have to figure out how to live with them.

McBride’s novels are among the few places you can find a vision of how such a life might work, might even become something joyful. They’re comic novels by necessity because the only way to do this is with a sense of humor. “My characters don’t take themselves too seriously,” McBride told me. “They’re just looking for the little, simple pleasures, because life is so tough and unforgiving and difficult.” But also, if you and your neighbors show up for one another, it can be a bit of heaven as well

Off to work on my pretrial detention journal.

1:42 PM

I have gotten through a week's work for the pretrial detention journal. There was a little legal research. Lunched. That was pretty much my afternoon.

Two things to check out:

From Object to Icon, a book from Ancient Faith Publications - " this book shows us how to stop objectifying others and instead see the spiritual reality in everyone we encounter."

Utah judge reminds anti-abortion lawyers of whose voices were missing in state constitution - where Daily Kos reminds the world there are sane Republican judges (disregarding those morons on the U.S. Supreme Court).

Stew should be ready.

5:46 PM

Showered. Going to work on letter and read some of the books I've got on Christopher Marlowe. Going absolutely nowhere.

sch 6:21 PM