thoughts on the activist

when i read the activist i feel slightly schizophrenic, modestly autistic, and generally out of touch. the changing literary styles, the unidentified narrator, and the mass confustion and histeria that has struck the characters is readily apparent to the reader. i feel as if i just stretched a muscle that hasnt been used in a long time. the activist is quite refreshing, though it leaves me with no furthur knowledge of activists or their role in society. i have always had a slight disdain for the type anyway. i think i need to let this book stew a while longer before i can really offer a comprhensive analysis of this whole thingy.

coming soon: part deuce

Writing Experiment (Week 2)

This is a variation on the Exquisite Corpse exercise we did in class together. Collect 10 complete sentences from 10 different texts (search any- and everywhere...your shelves, the library stacks, the internet, the grocery store - classics, camp, or unidentifiables - old or new - odd or even). Let them stew in your notebook overnight (ie. out of mind for a bit).

Now, in E.C. fashion, write a follow-up sentence to each collected sentence individually, not worrying at all about how the group of sentences coheres as a whole. Merely respond one on one with a sentence of your own devise so that you have 20 sentences (or 10 couples).

Finally, try to marry your sentences together, leaving leaps of logic and style as is, or else challenge yourself to adding as few new sentences as possible so that they all share some semblance of cohesion. Don't feel undue fidelity to your sentence pairs; break them up where you care/dare to.

Perhaps, in your notes, comment on your creation.

Lies on the bus...

That's a lie.
I told him I would call him when I was finally home.
No, I lied to him.
There was no party, and Janice doesn't exisit.
I made it all up
all of it.
Just stayed in my room all night
For some silence.
No.
No.
Never.
Don't fucking say that
I'm not crazy.
Yes, it was.
But I....
Yea.
He never told me that.
It can't be true-What?
I guess so.
Yea, I heard that
It's not a crime after
No, I'm dont think so.
Yea, forget it, I won't
Shit, my battery is about to die.
Fuck off.
See you tomorrow

A Mornings Rest

I’m in the middle of a forest, it must be fall. The trees are vibrant in color and personality. I am walking on what use to be a dirt road, but now covered in the fallen leaves that the threshold of winter brings. The debris crunches below me as I walk. I don’t exactly know what I am doing here, but that is not important. Maybe this is where my mind dwells, maybe this is where I want to be. This place is obscenely tranquil. There are no chirping birds, no howling wind, however, just the deafening sound of pure silence, A an unharmed silence.
Cacophony. Fuck, my alarm. I spin over swiftly and frantically search for the snooze button. Finally, the screaming sound of that dreadful box is muted for a few delicate minutes. I flip back around, shut my eyes, and try to recapture my state of mind. It’s just not the same. It never is. My mind is now in shambles as I think about leaving this piece of heaven- my blanket, my pillow, my dreamland. My mind is now merely cluttered with all I have to accomplish today. The work I have to do calls me from the desk, and the thought of classes looms over my head.
More ringing. Fuck, my cell phone. All I am asking for is a few minutes of peace, and now I have all of today’s modern technology yelling at me to wake up. I flip open the phone, and it’s my ex-girlfriend. I’m thinking that I will hit ignore. My body merely drops back down to the pillow. I just want to lie here with no interruptions. Just me, my pillow, and my thoughts all crowded together on this mattress. The world, however, is too busy. I have deadlines to keep, things to be on time for, and work to accomplish.
Cacophony. Well, there it is: the last call. I open my eyes and squint towards the glare of the sun. I let my feet hang off the bed. They swing like a pendulum, back and forth. Finally, my feet hit the cold, hard ground. Another day gained, however, another pure moment lost.

Discussion Questions

Here are this week's Response Prompts:

• What does the title, The Activist, suggest or lead you to expect to find in the book? What is an activist? What does one do as an activist? What do you know about activism? (you might Wikipedia the term). How does the writing demonstrate, engage in, comment on, question, confuse, criticize, or refute the idea of activism?
  
• How would you characterize the style of writing in each section? What's similar? Different? What are the effects of those styles on you as a reader? How do they change your reaction to or understanding of the narrator?
• What are some main themes, ideas, or suggestions in the book? Where and how are they introduced and repeated or returned to in the course of the book?
  
• What is reporting? What does a reporter do? How might we define "a reporter"? What is the nature or function of reporting in The Activist? What does reporting allow Gladman to say or do? What does it restrict her from saying/doing?
• Could you characterize the book's organization or overall form? How does the book's organization or overall form reflect, contrast with, confuse, or converse with Gladman's main themes, ideas, or suggestions throughout?
  

Remember, these prompts are suggestions only. You are free to answer all, some, or none of these, provided that, should you decide these questions aren't sparking your interest or thought, you pose and answer some more in depth questions of your own to explore regardng the course book.

Here too is your Tuesday bonus material. First a link to an audio file of fiction writer Ben Marcus reading some of his work. Then a small excerpt from a much longer essay by fiction writer Ben Marcus on defending Experimental Fiction (taken from an Oct/'05 Harper's Magazine, might be worth tracking down the whole essay in the UMass library periodicals archive). And lastly, a tempering position by critic Jess Row (she gives a few additional quotes from Marcus' essay and tries to re-contextualize his angst). While the first article aims to give contexts for differing labels of writing and literary viewpoints (or more particularly, why writers draw aesthetic lines in the sand), the latter tries to contextualize and question the very nature of the debate. Reactions, opinions, connections to our own readings is encouraged.

• The Father Costume (audio link - only MP3 is working)
• Why Experimental Fiction Threatens..., by Ben Marcus
• Marcus vs. Franzen, by Jess Row