July 2, 2003
With unparalleled stylistic terrorism, young Japanese writer Kenji Siratori unleashes his first literary Sarin attack. An unprovoked assault on the senses.Not a submission—this was spam advertising an actual published book.
I realize that writing is a sedentary profession, and that pallid people who spend all their time at keyboards in small rooms often need to pretend that they live a life of action, striking blows, leading movements, and otherwise engaged in varieties of mortal combat. And, indeed, good writing and interesting conversations have sometimes emerged from this sort of thing.
On the other hand, if “terrorism” is just your word for a particular prose style, I can’t imagine what words you would use to describe, oh, say, terrorism. Having actually experienced terrorism, albeit from a couple of miles uptown, I can say with some authority that it has remarkably little resemblance to the experience of reading a young Japanese author’s post-cyberpunk novel, “unprovoked assaults on the senses” notwithstanding.
Most to the point, though, if you’re on the second paragraph of your press release and you’ve already cranked the amp up to 11, it seems a good bet that very little of interest is really going to follow. [12:03 PM]
From that excerpt, I'd guess the author was condemning the book, not promoting it.
You too, huh? I just received a copy and stumbled at the comment about a literary Sarin attack. Forgive me, but does that not imply one is about to die as a result of reading it. terribly bad for repeat sales, I'd have thought.
And Avram, you should have seen the first paragraph, the admiring quote from another author that made me not want to read his book either.
M.
Keep in mind that Aum Shinrikyo’s Sarin attack was kind of a flop — not in terms of the psychological impact on Tokyo, certainly, but in terms of what Aum Shinrikyo hoped to accomplish.
On one of the cable news channels, the talking head mentioned that "someone" has speculated that the Denver cat killings are the work of a "terrorist cult".
(Might have been "teenage terrorist cult")
Oh hey. I got that one too and you shoulda kept reading. I ws fascinated by his fellow author who described him as aranging the blood and semen encrusted fragments of post something or other culture with the exquisiteness of a manic Issey Miyake. Or something like that. It was fascinating in a kind of poke-the-sore-tooth again sort of way.
MKK
"I realize that writing is a sedentary profession, and that pallid people who spend all their time at keyboards in small rooms often need to pretend that they live a life of action, striking blows, leading movements, and otherwise engaged in varieties of mortal combat. And, indeed, good writing and interesting conversations have sometimes emerged from this sort of thing."
That's always been my reaction to the Internet-as-Wild-Wild-West hype, as well as business-as-extreme-spot-or-combat hype.
It turned out Paul Kincaid also received a copy of this spam. I pointed out the line about the novel being 'under active consideration' for the Arthur C. Clarke Award, whatever that means. We presume he's planning to submit copies. Lucky, lucky Clarke judges. However, a quick check on the submissions shelf revealed that so far the novel hasn't actually been sent, so that 'active consideration' is just a tad inaccurate.
It did say "stylistic terrorism" and "literary Sarin attack," so the question of what words one would apply to actual terrorism isn't really much of an issue.
But sure, it's hyperbolic, in the sense that I doubt any prose could actually match up to that description. (The closest one could get might be the Harry Potter books, which are FULL OF YELLING LIKE THIS.)
Hyperbolic or not, why would anyone want to read prose that's compared to terrorism? I don't know; why do people listen to heavy metal and thrash rock? Its fans tell me it's cathartic. I don't get it. I don't get this kind of blurb either.
But it is a hyperbolic world now, isn't it? We can't simply read a book anymore, fiction or non-fiction, we must devour the latest blockbuster (!!!). Everything gets three stars, five stars, two thumbs a pinky and twelve toes - all up. Even in submitting material, writers are encouraged to enlist hyperbole; how will our book bust open the market, what's our device, how do we plan to outshine the other two-hundred fifty thousand submissions piled in the warehouse? (Perhaps if the submission actually, physically glowed?)
Of course people will read Siratori's verbal 9/11. Consumers have become conditioned to seek only what passes as the zenith, the cutting edge. We shouldn't enjoy what we watch or read; we must let it flay us for it have any impact. If it doesn't cause abject hatred for one's self, or induce physical resulvion, it can't possibly be any good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must irradiate my next submission.
We can't simply read a book anymore, fiction or non-fiction, we must devour the latest blockbuster ...
To borrow Tonto's famous punchline,
What you mean "we," white man?
Ursula Le Guin has a character in her new book who walks into an airport bookstore, and discovers that it carries no books, only bestsellers, which she cannot read without breaking into hives.
Hard-Hitting Moderator: Teresa Nielsen Hayden.
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