A Writing Life (Part 4)

That was one extreme moment of many experiences (it was only for two summers and I often worked in the back offices on different floors). But I began to imagine things about the patrons. At another library, I once waited early one morning for the doors to open. I was surrounded by other patrons and could easily categorize them: homeless, retiree, unemployed, student, housewife, etc. They each gave away an idea of themselves that I now perceive with others without being too aware of what I am doing: the street tan of a homeless man; the loudness and exaggerations of students; the shy body language of married people. It all became real and clear.
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I began this by describing what I saw when I first sat down to write. This does matter and is worth recreating on the page. Vividness in writing is what we should look for, along with an honest picture of our time. Most of the writing that disappoints me fails to do either of these things. Many recent Canadian novels have taken a particular historical moment and created a plot around it. I understand the need to recall our history in our arts, but the books are limited and are due to be forgotten, despite any and all of the media interest, awards and sales figures. They are commenting well after the fact (it would be a great challenge for these types of writers to honestly describe what it feels like for a modern Canadian to wait in line for the bus on a cold day). They simply cannot look at the world we live in and tell us about it. The other type of writing refutes these historical narratives. The authors make a very determined attempt to talk about life as it is lived. This is to be commended. The problem here is that the books usually do not retain our interest. The plots are either uninspired or clichéd; the characters remain flat and soon become forgettable; and the reader is soon convinced that this is the way the novel should be written (no one wants to admit that the emperor has no clothes). I remember the moment when I came to this conclusion. I was, appropriately enough, working in a bookstore and had just bought a book that was a bestseller, one that was praised, if I remember correctly, as “a gem of a novel.” I sat in a café, read a few pages, and then shut the book. I tried to re-read those pages after reading another full-length review in a national newspaper that once again praised it. I, once again, closed the book after reading the first few pages. I did not open it again. It left a bad sensation in my mind and I noted how many other best sellers and critical favorites left me feeling disappointed and cheated.