I don’t know whether to comment on the writing (lovely!) or the subject (soul-crushingly familiar!) of this essay, because both deserve some attention. I was in fiction workshop in the early 2000s. Never quite as famous a writer, but an equally smug take on genre fiction pervaded — and I adopted it for a long time before I wised up and inspected it. In the best world, literary fiction learns from genre, genre learns from lit fic, and all of the writing everywhere benefits and finds the right readers on the right days for their words to land. Thank you for sharing this — it was a pleasure to read! 😊
I put some of the blame on your prof, famous writer though he may have been. That opening exercise — "what's your favorite book" — is a recipe for a room of insecure (not just you) undergraduates sitting in a room with a famous writer to show off and shame each other. Which is what happened, and a terrible way to start a course that — to work — is going to require a community of trust and care. No one thought about college that way in 1991 but what you experienced was *not* (just) about you.
Similarly, you didn't understand what he was trying to do. How could you have? Another feature of poorly/carelessly designed courses is you make the students figure out everything on their own. What would it have been like for you if Ehud on the first day had said "this is a course in which we are going to write X type of fiction. I know not all of you want to write that kind of fiction. Some of you want to write genre horror like Stephen King or thrillers likeTom Clancy. I'm not into that kind of writing but it's a big world and there should be a lot of different kinds of writing. But for this semester I'm going to require you to write X type of fiction. And this is going to be useful to your life as a writer, no matter what kind of fiction you want to write or end up writing, because writing X type of fiction teaches you A B and C about writing and those are worthwhile things to learn. If you don't even want to try that, this isn't the class for you, but I'm asking you to trust me that it will be worthwhile just to work on it for a semester."
This reminds me of one of my early lessons with the jazz pianist Theo Sainders. I didn’t know what I wanted as a young musician. Didn’t have a true voice blah, blah, blah. I struggled to play what I had failed to sufficiently practice the week before while Saunders listened with a progressively more dour expression and I stopped and started trying to make it sound like I had in fact practiced. Saunders finally put me out of my misery saying “you jive-ass motherfucker, get out of my house.” I knew enough to silently get up and leave without asking whether I should ever come back. I skipped a week before driving back over to his house. We didn’t play any piano that day. Just shot some baskets in the driveway. It was harsh at the time but I’ve held onto the experience and see it as a definitive moment in my musical and personal development.
Thoughtful feedback, thank you. And you’re right - there’s a level of holistic care that was missing. I don’t know how it should have appeared but I like your recommendation. I think there was an assumption - for better and worse - that everyone knew who he was and what fiction style best suited his class. An incorrect assumption as you have noted.
I don’t know whether to comment on the writing (lovely!) or the subject (soul-crushingly familiar!) of this essay, because both deserve some attention. I was in fiction workshop in the early 2000s. Never quite as famous a writer, but an equally smug take on genre fiction pervaded — and I adopted it for a long time before I wised up and inspected it. In the best world, literary fiction learns from genre, genre learns from lit fic, and all of the writing everywhere benefits and finds the right readers on the right days for their words to land. Thank you for sharing this — it was a pleasure to read! 😊
Thank you for sharing your story. Sad that it’s the case but at least we can know we’re not alone!
I put some of the blame on your prof, famous writer though he may have been. That opening exercise — "what's your favorite book" — is a recipe for a room of insecure (not just you) undergraduates sitting in a room with a famous writer to show off and shame each other. Which is what happened, and a terrible way to start a course that — to work — is going to require a community of trust and care. No one thought about college that way in 1991 but what you experienced was *not* (just) about you.
Similarly, you didn't understand what he was trying to do. How could you have? Another feature of poorly/carelessly designed courses is you make the students figure out everything on their own. What would it have been like for you if Ehud on the first day had said "this is a course in which we are going to write X type of fiction. I know not all of you want to write that kind of fiction. Some of you want to write genre horror like Stephen King or thrillers likeTom Clancy. I'm not into that kind of writing but it's a big world and there should be a lot of different kinds of writing. But for this semester I'm going to require you to write X type of fiction. And this is going to be useful to your life as a writer, no matter what kind of fiction you want to write or end up writing, because writing X type of fiction teaches you A B and C about writing and those are worthwhile things to learn. If you don't even want to try that, this isn't the class for you, but I'm asking you to trust me that it will be worthwhile just to work on it for a semester."
This reminds me of one of my early lessons with the jazz pianist Theo Sainders. I didn’t know what I wanted as a young musician. Didn’t have a true voice blah, blah, blah. I struggled to play what I had failed to sufficiently practice the week before while Saunders listened with a progressively more dour expression and I stopped and started trying to make it sound like I had in fact practiced. Saunders finally put me out of my misery saying “you jive-ass motherfucker, get out of my house.” I knew enough to silently get up and leave without asking whether I should ever come back. I skipped a week before driving back over to his house. We didn’t play any piano that day. Just shot some baskets in the driveway. It was harsh at the time but I’ve held onto the experience and see it as a definitive moment in my musical and personal development.
Great story. I'm going to change your contact name in my phone to "jive-ass motherfucker."
A good teacher sees through the BS and puts us on the right path.
Thoughtful feedback, thank you. And you’re right - there’s a level of holistic care that was missing. I don’t know how it should have appeared but I like your recommendation. I think there was an assumption - for better and worse - that everyone knew who he was and what fiction style best suited his class. An incorrect assumption as you have noted.