
My sister, Marti, recently gave a somewhat
mixed review of the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
One of the adjectives she picked was “strange.”
Thank god for that word.
The folks at Ninth Letter make
“strange” writing one of their primary goals,
as the work they publish bends genre, both in forms that
the pieces take and in the layout. A group of young graphic
artists take control of the piece and seek to present
it in a visually interesting way, but one that also captures
some flavor of the writing. We can all understand why
Kurowski’s essay on Basquiat is painted on wooden
panels and photographed. When we read Dan Chabon’s
“Patrick Lane, Flabbergasted,” we meet a young
man who inhabits a house, indeed a world that needs a
good rinsing off. That Chabon’s story is pasted
on to photographs of funky bathroom whose calking is coming
apart, and whose sockets trail dangerous looking wires…well,
it all comes together. Photos of grungy, sparse tiling
mirror Chabon’s sentences: “Parking meters
along the block had been beheaded and were now just bare
pipes sticking up out of the sidewalk.” An exciting
yet thoughtful layout is the goal here. And at times,
the marriage works.
The translation of “Butterfly”
by Yan Lianke comes complete with subtle red graphics
that are influenced by Asian landscape art, and since
the natural world is so richly evoked by Lianke’s
story, the choice is effective. Lianke’s world becomes
a participant in the action of the story in a magical
way not unlike the best of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s
work: “Like worms on a clear day after rain, the
iron wires at the foot of the wall were creeping toward
the eaves. Even though there was no wind, the trees were
shaking.” Along with natural world, the community
and the members of the town become intimately involved
in this drama between two families from two different
classes. Indeed the interest in community is reminiscent
of Lu Xun, whose literary prize Lianke has won. In the
end though, the story keeps its heart, as our two main
characters come to some larger understanding between themselves.
Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping have translated Lianke,
and it seems like important work, and the artist in charge
of the layout has presented it beautifully.
From what I hear, the artist gets a freehand
at conceptualizing the story, without a lot of arm-twisting
from the editors and the writer, herself. This often makes
for the best kind of innovation, that, when successful,
can make short fiction, non-fiction, and poetry exciting
to read again.
When you page over to Eric Vrooman’s
“Water Bill,” you want to read it. The piece,
I think it is a story even though it doesn’t look
like one, which is part of Ninth Letters’
charm, is on a plain blue background and looks like a
water bill, and you remove it from the magazine by unfastening
it from brackets. It may sound cumbersome, but since the
Vrooman is making a story out of a real water bill, unfolding
the piece literally puts you in the bill-opening mood.
A main player here is a particularly invasive and bureaucratic
water company that offers the warning that “the
death or departure of a co-resident can result in depression
and erratic water use.” Sentences like these give
the bill a good deal of humor, and the formatting makes
it look official, something the piece needs.
The magazine seems high on youth culture,
which helps explain its willingness to take chances. The
first two pieces have important references to videogames,
and being just out of college. Later, we have non-fiction
articles that explore potentially explosive topics, Brazilian
bikini waxing and the vasectomy. Except for the occasional
crotch joke, Matt Roberts and Kathleen Toomer explore
these topics in a serious way, trying to find out the
truth of their experience; Toomer wants us to be able
to talk about the vagina, but more importantly, she wants
to know what role glamour has in the lives of intelligent
people. Roberts must deal with a concept he has managed
to avoid thus far: finality.
I like the pursuit here; it’s audacious.
At some point, though, we might ask why we are doing it.
Flannery O’Connor once said something like a writer
can do anything she can get away with, but no one has
gotten away with very much. This premise is probably too
conservative to bring up when talking about a magazine
that is intentionally daring and youth driven. What O’Connor
would want to know is, does the writing hold up even under
the cold light of black lines on a white page? The beauty
of great writing comes partly from its simplicity. You
wouldn’t need an illustration of Chekhov’s
Lapdog nor would you want one. In the end, each piece
has to stand on its own merit, or even thoughtful graphics
become so much truck.
In this issue, Bob Hicok’s poem
“Punk, or a Mouthful of Sweat Glands” has
the following lines: “Long live whatever werewolfing
comes next!/ Something always comes next!/It’s in
the womb right now!” Hicok means this as an observation
but also a critique. When the youth owns the culture,
especially its future, this can make for loads of energy
and exuberence, but it can also bring an occasional lapse
in wisdom. A couple of times reading the magazine, I felt
a bit of lapse. Personally, I’ll trade a few of
the no-shows in this issue for the wild successes that
leave you saying both that “I’ve never seen
that before” and that “I am better for having
seen it.”
Writers, Ninth Letter is looking
for your newest baby, a piece that doesn’t smell
like old flowers. Readers you’ll be confronted with
the latest topics and the inventive ways to work them,
and all of this is brought to you in the latest font.
It is the initial impact that is its charm: being excited
to read a story again. My sister just looked over my shoulder
and thumbed through the issue. Her overwhelmingly positive
review: “Cool.”
Britt Harraway is a scholar, fiction
writer, and he teaches at a nice looking abbey in France.