Pale Fire felt like being forced to eat an entire birthday cake to me. I wasn't able to find any of the pathos that people seem to find in it. Lolita worked for me because behind the (very impressive, of course) verbal pyrotechnics are these moments when the horror comes into focus. But nothing else has.
Reading fiction by critics you like is always an interesting pursuit. One day I found myself reading Ryan Ruby's novel because it was on display at the library and it took me from thinking his criticism was fine to actively disliking it because the book was such shoddy hackwork lol (fun in its way, but boy does he owe Donna Tartt a few royalty checks). Whereas Under the Volcano only made me like Sontag more. Both were strange though because you feel as if you already know the author so thoroughly, it's almost like reading a novel by a friend.
Lastly, I've really enjoyed your writing here, I feel as if our interests have been oddly synced and I've gained a bunch of good recommendations and insights. But there comes a point where one doesn't want to churn out content for the sake of it and if it feels like the thing to do is retreat for a while, then you should and I hope to see you around this corner of the internet 🫡
If I had to characterize my "theory," such as it is, it's that domestic woman is ironically the source of both aestheticism and its managerial adversary; hence, I'm sure, the ambivalence you detect between my fiction and nonfiction.
Pale Fire felt like being forced to eat an entire birthday cake to me. I wasn't able to find any of the pathos that people seem to find in it. Lolita worked for me because behind the (very impressive, of course) verbal pyrotechnics are these moments when the horror comes into focus. But nothing else has.
Reading fiction by critics you like is always an interesting pursuit. One day I found myself reading Ryan Ruby's novel because it was on display at the library and it took me from thinking his criticism was fine to actively disliking it because the book was such shoddy hackwork lol (fun in its way, but boy does he owe Donna Tartt a few royalty checks). Whereas Under the Volcano only made me like Sontag more. Both were strange though because you feel as if you already know the author so thoroughly, it's almost like reading a novel by a friend.
Lastly, I've really enjoyed your writing here, I feel as if our interests have been oddly synced and I've gained a bunch of good recommendations and insights. But there comes a point where one doesn't want to churn out content for the sake of it and if it feels like the thing to do is retreat for a while, then you should and I hope to see you around this corner of the internet 🫡
Sincere thanks—I may quote you on this!
If I had to characterize my "theory," such as it is, it's that domestic woman is ironically the source of both aestheticism and its managerial adversary; hence, I'm sure, the ambivalence you detect between my fiction and nonfiction.