A scrapbook of stuff I'm reading / looking at / listening to / thinking about...
Posts tagged "reality hunger"
Jan 07, 2012
I am quite content to go down to posterity as a scissors and paste man.
Apr 21, 2010
» David Shields on the origins of REALITY HUNGER
The origins of Reality Hunger lie, believe it or not, in a course I’ve been teaching for many years — a graduate course in the lyric essay and self-reflexive documentary film. Over many years, I’ve been putting together a course packet full of scraps of material that I’ve read and loved. I didn’t really care/don’t really care who said what. None of the quotes had citations; I was just trying to get the class to respond to the provocative statements, especially since they were and are graduate students in fiction, and my course is kind of the Anabaptist at the Baptist convention. All this material started becoming a book when I realized I could slide some of the material intro thematized rubrics, otherwise known as chapters; each chapter could have a movement, an argument; and the book as a whole could go from A to Z, could unfold an ethos, an ars poetica. What drove the thing from the beginning was that I needed to explain to myself why I don’t write fiction per se anymore, and why with various few exceptions I can’t and don’t read it, and why a certain kind of philosophically inclined nonfiction thrills me to my toes, how exciting this work is, how exciting it always has been, going back millennia. I just wanted to understand this for myself and, in a way, my students and the culture at large, because I do think the shift is in no way only in me.
Apr 15, 2010
You say you’re not bound by 19th century conventions, right? Why are you bound by the 19th century convention of ‘book’?
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 18, 2010
Old and new make the warp and woof of every moment. There is no thread that is not a twist of these two strands. By necessity, by proclivity and by delight, we all quote. It is as difficult to appropriate the thoughts of others as it is to invent.
Mar 10, 2010
The novel is dead. Long live the anti-novel, built from scraps.
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