Plot: how to build short stories and novels that don’t sag, fizzle, or trail off…

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Meh. Started out strong with some useful tips but the pressure of having to fill 100+ pages overwhelmed him.

  • Cause and effect make up plot.
  • Effective plots: struggle, conflict, dissatisfaction, aspiration, and choice.
  • You can create movement by shifting between perspectives
  • Exposition can come via inner monologue, omniscient narrator between scenes, dialogue, or via props (a card from a child lets you know that the woman is a mother, etc.)

An Age Like This, 1920-1940 (Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters, Vol. 1)

Orwell left instructions in his will forbidding a biography, so this is as close as we presumably can get to know the man hiding behind a pseudonym (although biographies have, of course, been written). Unfortunately, it comes with a big smack in the face for me, Blair/Orwell’s misogyny coming through clearly when you read condensed notes for his books and his letters/journalism. (His love of Henry Miller, his comments that women “as usual, don’t understand politics but have adopted the views of their husbands as wives ought,” among many other examples.)

That said, I can take a deep breath and appreciate some of the bits, such as the first hint in 1932 of his desire for anonymity seen in a letter to his literary agent, Moore, asking him to “please see that it [Down and Out in Paris and London] is published pseudonymously, as I am not proud of it.” In another later, he suggests possible names to use, such as P.S. Burton, the name he uses when tramping, or possibly Kenneth Miles, George Orwell, or H.Lewis Allways. “I rather favour George Orwell.”

I also enjoyed some of the pieces I hadn’t seen before, like Clink, his description of being locked up as a drunk (intentionally), where we learn the delicious epithet of “Fucking toe-rag!”

He seems to fancy his friend Eleanor Jaques, who ends up marrying another of his friends (Dennis Collings) instead. Blair signed his letters “with much love” and was always pressing Jaques for visits. Another woman correspondent was Brenda Salkeld, on whom Blair lavished intense literary instruction, telling her what to read and what to think about Ulysses which he revered above all. (Garnett’s The Twilight of the Gods is a “positive duty” to read). He’s dismissive of Gertrude Stein (shocker!), saying that Wyndham Lewis’s takedown of her in The Enemy wasn’t worth the effort.

Several of his book reviews are included, which I enjoyed for the content and the structure (always looking for tips!), but I really dug the letters. From these, we learn that he opens a village store as a way to cover his rent while he writes in the morning (store open in the afternoon); his discussion of the benefits of a store that sells sundries vs a bookstore sticks with me—essentially people browse forever in a bookstore and never buy, but in a real shop, they come with a purpose and are less troublesome.

He also has a friend (Jack Common) stay in his cottage to care for the chickens and goats while he’s in Morocco (giving him instruction on what type of toilet paper won’t clog the septic system). And I loved the tale of stealing a copy of H.G. Wells’s Country of the Blind from his fellow school friends because they were all so eager to read it (“It’s a very vivid memory of mine, stealing alone the corridor at about four o’clock on a midsummer morning into the dormitory where you slept and pinching the book from beside your bed.”).

I hadn’t realized Orwell was in contact with John Middleton Murry as well (“I heard from Murry who seemed in the weeps about something” – which doesn’t surprise me). He also agitates friends to try and stockpile paper and printing equipment ahead of the coming war (in 1938), rightfully thinking that they’ll be in short supply when war does break out. (“I cannot believe that the time when one can buy a printing press with no questions asked will last for ever.”)

His essay on joining the Independent Labour Party is instructive: “… the era of free speech is closing down. The freedom of the press in Britain was always something of a fake, because in the last resort, money controls opinion… The time is coming… when every writer will have the choice of being silenced altogether or of producing the dope that a privileged minority demands.”

Least liked was the extensive takedown of Dickens, but he slightly redeems himself in the 5th section by saying “By this time anyone who is a lover of Dickens, and who has read as far as this, will probably be angry with me.”

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City

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For once I wholeheartedly agree with the Pulitzer Prize committee, this is an incredible book. Imminently readable, thoroughly researched with years of fieldwork layered on with later years of surveys and data analysis. I appreciate more than anything that he wrote it third person, taking the pesky “I” out of the finished product because, as he says at the end, the story is about bigger game than just how he felt about witnessing such poverty and destruction of lives. The footnotes are glorious, dripping with facts and backup assertions, so don’t skip them.

What Matthew Desmond lays bare in this book are the myriad of ways the system fails poor people and rigs the game against them. SSI payments get reduced or cut off once you achieve $2,000 in your bank account, discouraging any kind of saving that might help give them a leg up in extricating from the situation. Besides giving us a seat of unprecedented access to the unraveling of these lives, Desmond layers in bits of research like psychologists showing self-preservation pitted against empathy usually results in empathy losing. “Humans act brutally under brutal conditions.”

Some follow ups: Robert Fogelson The Great Rent Wars: New York, 1917-1929, Henry Zorbaugh The Gold Coast and the Slum: A Sociological Study of Chicago’s Near North Side from 1929

Definite thumbs up and highly recommended.

Effi Briest

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This forgotten gem by Theodor Fontane in 1895 is well-worth a read. Thomas Mann said in 1919 that it was among the six most significant novels ever written, yet it has been completely forgotten by most of the literati. The story involves young Effi Briest, a girl who’s married off to her mother’s ex-boyfriend (!!), Baron Instetten, many decades older than her. What could go wrong?! The story unfolds slowly but not ploddingly, she’s semi-abandoned in a frontier town while her husband climbs the ranks of official life. Along the way she has a flirtation/affair with one of his friends, and when they must leave for Berlin, she’s relieved to end it all. Six years pass, and when her daughter bangs her head on a stair, bleeding profusely, the maids crack open Effi’s desk to find some bandages. Later, out of the chaos, the Baron discovers a packet of letters and reads them. Despite so much time having passed, he immediately heads out and challenges the guy to a duel, killing him. Effi is then truly abandoned, stripped of her child and reputation, only surviving due to her parents’ largess. Later she has a doctor convince her parents to let her come back and live with them, where she later dies. Just before leaving this mortal coil, the Baron has some twinges of regret, realizing that he’s forsaken happiness forever.

The Best Short Stories of Mark Twain

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I’m on a hunt for specific tips around the craft of story-telling, and who better to ask than Mark Twain? This collection features what the editor feels are the best of his stories, plus a snippet in the appendix “How to tell a story” comes from Twain in 1895.

Perhaps my favorite was “The McWilliamses and the Burglar Alarm” from 1882, wherein Twain relates a tale told to him (a frequent device) by a man who foolishly invested and doubled down and tripled down on his burglar alarm investment. Delicious first sentence, “The conversation drifted smoothly and pleasantly along from weather to crops, from crops to literature from literature to scandal, from scandal to religion; then took a random jump, and landed on the subject of burglar alarms.”

Also of interest, the extracts from Adam’s diary (and later, from Eve’s, which wasn’t as interesting).

But mostly I was there for the writing tips, and nuggets like this are sprinkled throughout: “The difference between the almost-right word and the right word is really a large matter—it’s the difference between the lightning-bug and the lightning.”

“To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third is the dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it, as if one were thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause.”

The Legion of Regrettable Supervillains: Oddball Criminals from Comic Book History

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A few years ago I enjoyed the The League of Regrettable Superheroes: Half-Baked Heroes from Comic Book History and was pleased to see this compilation out recently. My favorite era of comics seems to be in that 1940s-1970s range—anything in the 80s and beyond seems too slick, too computer-drawn. Like the previous collection, you’re treated to at least a cover shot of the comic, plus puns/snarky comments alongside.

This one was my favorite, not for the artwork but the concept… the villian was “The Jingler”, an evil poet who realizes the only way to get his work published is by killing people and stuffing it in their mouths or on their person.

This one was for a villain that was both he and she, ingeniously named “He/She”. But I like the exclamation, “Strip my gears and call me shiftless!” Gonna borrow that one.

This guy has a very capitalist attitude about paying workers:

Finally, one for B:

How to Kill a City: Gentrification, Inequality, and the Fight for the Neighborhood

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This book started with such promise but fizzled once it got to SF. Peter Moskowitz puts the spotlight on New Orleans, Detroit, SF, and NYC to show various stages of gentrification. The New Orleans and Detroit sections were good, but maybe I just don’t know enough about those cities to judge correctly? He falls flat in SF, making this the shortest section and padding it with a lot of Solnit quotes and facts from federal housing programs that mostly apply to NYC. He also makes some weird statements that don’t hold up, like the fact that the Mission is gentrifying faster b/c “it’s serviced by both of San Francisco’s train systems (Muni and BART),” not mentioning the main reason as close proximity to the highways leading south to Silicon Valley (in fact he barely mentions the Valley, and forgetting completely CalTrain but who can blame him). He redeems himself slightly by mentioning the infamous Dropbox soccer fiasco where they tried to kick neighborhood kids out and when asked how long they’d lived in the community, the techies said “Who gives a shit? Who cares about the neighborhood?”

Shocking quotes pulled together from various interviews, such as the Louisiana governor Kathleen Blanco saying that they had M-16s locked and loaded, “I have one message for these hoodlums: These troops know how to shoot and kill, and they are more than willing to do so if necessary and I expect they will.” A real estate developer let loose to a German newspaper saying “Most importantly, the hurricane drove poor people and criminals out of the city, and we hope they don’t come back.” And in Detroit, an official blatantly said “Bring on more gentrification. I’m sorry, but I mean, bring it on.”

He states some things repeatedly, begging for an editor, and sometimes contradicting points (like the amount that Twitter tax benefited was $56M or $34M depending on which page you were on).

Illuminations: Essays and Reflections

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Finally, a book of Benjamin’s essays that is somewhat approachable and readable! It comes with a long intro essay from Hannah Arendt, and essays by Benjamin on Kafka, Baudelaire, Proust, Nikolai Leskov, on translation, on book collecting, and art in the age of mechanical reproduction. Despite being over-Kafka-nated, his essay was enjoyable especially after Arendt set the stage of their similarities (K only 10 years older, both alien Jews in a German land, both geniuses who found posthumous fame). I also found a lot of use in the essay on Leskov’s storytelling since I’m currently obsessed with the idea of plot/tales/stories.

As always, Benjamin can be relied on to provide quality content about boredom:

“If sleep is the apogee of physical relaxation, boredom is the apogee of mental relaxation. Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. A rustling in the leaves drives him away. His nesting places —the activities that are intimately associated with boredom—are already extinct in the cities and are declining in the country as well.”

The Zürau Aphorisms

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These 109 scraps of fragmented thoughts from his months in Zürau are labeled aphorisms despite not following the classic form of an aphorism. The collection starts out strong but I found it lacking overall when compared to similar collections of wise, short, pithy sayings. Robert Calasso also includes the final chapter of his book, K., to help flesh out the volume.

My favorite was Number 5:

“From a certain point on, there is no more turning back. That is the point that must be reached.”

Other good ones:

  • 42: “To let one’s hate-and disgust-filled head slump onto one’s chest.”
  • 76: “The feeling: ‘I’m not dropping anchor here,’ and straightaway the feeling of the sustaining sea-swell around one.”
  • 11/12: “The variety of views that one may have, say, of an apple: the view of the small boy who has to crane his neck for a glimpse of the apple on the table, and the view of the master of the house who picks up the apple and hands it to a guest.”
  • 20: “Leopards break into the temple and drink all the sacrificial vessels dry; it keeps happening; in the end, it can be calculated in advance and is incorporated into the ritual.”
  • 109: “It isn’t necessary that you leave home. Sit at your desk and listen. Don’t even listen, just wait. Don’t wait, be still and alone. The whole world will offer itself to you to be unmasked, it can do no other, it will writhe before you in ecstasy.”

BART: The Dramatic History of the Bay Area Rapid Transit System

I really wanted to like this book all the way through but as a reader, my energy flagged and waned with every rabbit-hole Michael Healy went down. There are some great parts, with interesting bits scattered throughout, but it really could have used an editor to excise out the sleep-inducing parts. On the good side: details about the construction and early battles around routes/stations/locations. The Embarcadero station was never part of the original design (now one of the busiest)! Insider stories also very interesting, such as the fact that the flea market at Berkeley’s Ashby station was never supposed to be permanent but after a court battle, it remains in business nearly 40 years later. Disabled-rights activist Harold Willson was hugely influential in making BART the first transpo system in the nation that was 100% accessible to people not able to walk (the slogan to get elevators was “BART, give us the shaft,” which I love).

The technology going into the excavation and creation of the tunnel for the Transbay tube also very interesting. The first tunneling shield was used in London to create a pedestrian tunnel under the Thames, written about by Charles Dickens in 1843 and now part of the Underground.

Healy sometimes gives a nod to the male-dominated field, mentioning the first women on the board, women managers, etc. Also a ridiculous story about how Kay Springer was trying to give visitors a tour of the subway construction but she was stopped by the foreman because of a superstition about women in the construction area. Hello, patriarchy! Luckily, her manager informed the foreman that she needed access and the taboo was broken to no ill effect. Shocking!

The hubbub over the 100-millionth passenger was telling– they randomly selected a woman who was leaving the Embarcadero Station and descended on her with bright lights and uniformed officers and she covered her face and didn’t want to give her name. Bravo, lady, for “having none of it”.

I also didn’t realize that bike lockers had been used by homeless as shelters, renting them for $35/year. Overall, it’s worth reading, but godbless you if you don’t plow dazed and bleary-eyed through the boring parts.

Fire!!: The Zora Neale Hurston Story

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For those folks who don’t have enough time to digest Hurston’s autobiography or Wrapped in Rainbows: the Life of Zora Neale Hurston, this is a quick introduction to the literary genius that was Zora. Her life dipped and arced and twisted and turned, and Peter Bagge does a great job illustrating this vividly.

Death in Venice and Other Tales

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Twelve tales that Mann wrote between 1896 and 1912 (Death in Venice), some quite strange, all with the tell-tale Mann stamp upon them.
The Will for Happiness (1896)- man with fatal heart condition evades death until at long last the father of his beloved allows them to marry. He dies on their wedding night.
Little Herr Friedemann (1897)- crippled by being dropped as an infant, Friedemann falls in love then realizes it is futile since he is grotesque, focuses on being cultured instead. Years later, he falls for a new woman in town who cruelly rejects him, he drowns himself in the creek by her house at a party one night.
Tobias Mindernickel (1897) – old man is laughed at by children, acquires a dog but then beats it, only finds relief in providing succor once he’s almost killed it. Then he does kill it.
Little Lizzy (1897) – attractive woman married to an obese lawyer and openly carrying on affairs that the whole town knows about. She convinces her husband to dress up like a giant baby and sing a number at her party, to his humiliation. “This fat man had the most bizarre character. No one could have been more courteous, more gracious, more obliging than he. Yet without actually articulating it, people felt that his overly friendly and flattering behavior was somehow forced, that it was rooted in timidity and insecurity, and so it got on their nerves. Nothing is uglier than a person who despises himself but who, out of cowardice and vanity, is eager to please because he wants to be liked.”
Gladius Dei (1902)- strange story where a painting of the Virgin Mary is deemed by a passerby to be too seductive, he tries to get it taken out of the window of the gallery that’s selling copies of it.
Tristan (1903) – hints of Magic Mountain in this one— a writer and a consumptive (only the windpipe tho!) meet in a sanatorium and develop a friendship; she dies after having been convinced by him to play Tristan and Isolde.
The Starvelings: A Study (??) – brief portrait of a jealous friend who wishes his lady friend would tell him to wait a bit and hang out with her. Echoes of this show up again in Tonio Kroger.
Tonio Kroger (1903)- fantastic novella, Kroger falls in love with Hans and then with Inge, both of whom he encounters later in Sweden they having married and he having traveled there to get a fresh perspective. “If he was asked what in the world he wanted to be, he would supply different answers, for he was in the habit of saying—and had already written—that he bore within himself the possibilities of a thousand different ways of life, together with the secret awareness that they were all impossibilities.”
“He did not work like someone who works in order to live; rather, he worked like someone who wants nothing but to work because he considers himself nothing as a living person, wishes only to be regarded as a creative being, and otherwise goes about gray and inconspicuous like an actor who has taken off his makeup and is nothing so long as he has nothing to portray. He worked in silent and invisible seclusion, disdainful of those small-minded people for whom talent was a social asset, who, whether rich or poor, went about wild and dilapidated or lived high on the hog with very individualistic neckties, who were devoted to their charming and artistic lives and unaware that good works can emerge only under the pressure of a bad life, that the person who lives does not work, and that an artist must virtually die in order to be fully creative.”
The Wunderkind (1903) – a young skilled composer and pianist pulls the wool over his audience’s eyes, or so he feels.
Harsh Hour (1905) – I think this is Mann’s portrait of Schiller writing? He mentions Don Carlos… it’s late at night, the writer is alone and taking a break to look more holistically at his work. “Do not brood: work! Limit, exclude, give shape, complete… And complete it he did, the work of his suffering. It may not have been good, but complete it he did. And when it was complete, lo and behold, it was good. And from his soul, from Music and Idea, new works struggled upward, resonant and shimmering creations, which, in sacred form, wondrously hinted at their infinite homeland, just as the ocean, from which it is fished, roars in the seashell.”
The Blood of the Walsungs (1905) – bizarre tale of twins who are in love with each other, named after the characters in Die Walkure who they see that night at the opera; they consummate their relationship on the eve of the girl twin getting married off.
Death in Venice (1912) – old man and the sea, feels the travel bug and doesn’t know how to fight it, goes here and there and finally Venice, tries to leave but his trunk gets sent on in the wrong direction, he uses this as an excuse to stay and watch a young boy whom he’s in love with. Disease hits the city, he dies.

Franz Kafka: The Tremendous World Inside My Head

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Louis Begley’s biographical essay about Kafka is a great place to start unraveling the twisty turns of this Prague genius’s forty year life. You’re left with the confirmed opinion that K was a giant weirdo, beset by crippling fear and antipathy towards his father/parents, torturing his fiancee Felice with up and down/back and forth/push-pull of wanting to marry and not marry (his letter to Milena “Yes, torture is extremely important to me—my sole occupation is torturing and being tortured”). He was fiercely protective of his work, only allowing a handful of things to be published in his lifetime and instructing Max Brod to burn everything else on his death (command ignored, for better or worse, giving us The Trial, The Castle, Amerika, Letter to His Father, and all his diaries and letters). Of those published while he was alive I’ve only read The Metamorphosis (decades ago). Otherwise, his sanctioned works are In the Penal Colony, and short stories: The Judgement, A Country Doctor, A Report to the Academy, A Hunger Artist, Josephine the Singer, or the Mouse Folk.

Here’s a sobering tidbit—all three of Kafka’s sisters were murdered by Germans in concentration camps. Kafka himself bowed out of the world stage at age 40 in 1924, from tuberculosis. He preferred his youngest sister, Ottla, but otherwise despised his family, with whom he lived. “It is not because they are relatives that I cannot bear to be in the same room with them, but merely because they are people… I cannot live with people; I absolutely hate all my relatives, not because they are wicked, not because I don’t think well of them… but simply because they are people with whom I live in close proximity.” Further in this letter to his fiance, he tells her that he’d be incomparably happier living in a desert, in a forest, on an island, rather than with his family. “Beware of thinking of life as commonplace… Life is merely terrible; I feel it as few others do. Often—and in my inmost self perhaps all the time—I doubt that I am a human being.”

He took work as a clerk in an insurance office but always knew that his purpose in life was to write. “The tremendous world I have inside my head, but how to free myself and free it without being torn to pieces. And a thousand times rather to be torn to pieces than retain it in me or bury it. That, indeed, is why I am here, that is quite clear to me.” As such, he yearned for complete solitude in his life, saying, “this is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.”

The fantastic quote about literature comes from a letter to Oskar Pollak from 1904:

“If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?… We need books to affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.”

Begley credits K’s 1912 story, The Judgement for revealing one of Kafka’s greatest inventions: the “nonchalant treatment of events in his fiction that every reader knows are implausible.”

Lots of book suggestions from this: Tonio Kroger by Thomas Mann, Ferdydurke by Gombrowicz, Benjamin’s Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, Elizabeth Boa’s Kafka: Gender, Class and Race, and K by Roberto Calasso. (Note: I did a cursory flip through Boa’s book on Kafka and gender and it looks solid but I’m all Kafka’d out at the moment. Benjamin’s Illuminations also very good.)

A Mammal’s Notebook: The Writings of Erik Satie

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Great companion book to go along with the bio of Satie I just finished. The editor, Ornella Volta, carefully curates all the various bits of writing that Satie left behind, either within his musical compositions, or published essays, or from the 150 surviving of 4,000 little cards found in his room after his death (“amid an indescribable mess, carefully stored in cigar boxes, each describing in neat calligraphy, in the form of small advertisements, elements of a looking-glass world.”) It’s a beautiful book.

Volta groups Satie’s writing in three categories: written for performance (despite fake? admonition not to read it outloud), written for publication, and his private writings. Quite possibly my favorite section was the compendium of all the performance indications he’d notated into his music, all grouped together, alphabetically in one place.

A sample:

  • A bit rococo but slow
  • Arching your back
  • Be an hour late
  • Continue without losing consciousness
  • Dance inwardly
  • Do not change our physiognomy
  • Do not cough
  • Do not look disagreeable
  • Dry as a cuckoo
  • Even duller if you can
  • From a distance, bored
  • Gird yourself with perceptiveness
  • Like a nightingale with a toothache
  • On the tips of your back teeth
  • On yellowing velvet
  • Take your hand off and put it in your pocket
  • Tell yourself about it
  • With your bones dry and distant

Amusing Ourselves To Death

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I had to wait several weeks for this to filter through the library to me since everyone seems eager to understand the calamity of Election 2016. This book helped, despite being over 30 years old (pub’d 1985), by outlining the ways our television culture redefines discourse. It holds up well through the decades if you can overlook the dated cultural touchstones (even the intro from Postman’s son in 2005 dated quickly, mentioning Tivoing and Game Boys).

Postman first outlines the ways that print culture forced various modes of communication, mentioning Plato’s recognition that no intelligent person would write down their philosophy in unchangeable text. How strange writing must seem to people of an entirely oral culture “a conversation with no one and yet with everyone.”

In 1835, de Tocqueville presaged the arrival of Twitter hundred of years ahead of time: “In America, parties do not write books to combat each other’s opinions, but pamphlets, which are circulated for a day with incredible rapidity and then expire.”

From the perspective of someone with a 2 second attention span, it’s mind boggling to imagine the audiences for the Lincoln-Douglas debates that took seven hours. “Is there any audience of Americans today who could endure seven hours of talk? or five? or three? Especially without pictures of any kind?” He then shows an example of the complex clauses used by Lincoln while speaking and says (of Reagan, but it applies to Toxic T) “It is hard to imagine the present occupant of hte White House being capable of constructing such clauses in similar circumstances. And if he were, he would surely do so at the risk of burdening the comprehension or concentration of his audience.”

Enter photographs and advertising, then slogans and the decline of text was on the rise. But the death knell came with the invention of the telegraph, which “dignified irrelevance and amplified impotence… making public discourse essentially incoherent.” He quotes Lewis Mumford as saying that it brought us into a world of “broken time and broken attention.”

Television forced everything to become entertainment, including the news; everything is there for our amusement and pleasure. This focus on amusement makes us leery of caring about facts, quoting a 1983 NYTimes story saying “President Reagan’s aides used to become visibly alarmed at suggestions that he had given mangled and perhaps misleading accounts of his policies or of current events in general. That doesn’t seem to happen much anymore [due to lack of public interest].”

Walter Lippmann in 1920 wrote: “There can be no liberty for a community which lacks the means by which to detect lies.” This assumes that the press would function as lie-detectors and that the public would care. We don’t. Further on, Postman notes (quaintly for 2017’s alternative facts) “And there is no Newspeak here. Lies have not been defined as truth nor truth as lies.”

On the pernicious effects of commercials:

A person who has seen one million television commercials might well believe that all political problems have fast solutions through simple measures—or ought to.  Or that complex language is not to be trusted, and that all problems lend themselves to theatrical expression.

I do have some concerns with his statements, especially the comment that “a good reader does not cheer an apt sentence or pause to applaud even an inspired paragraph. Analytic thought it too busy for that, and too detached.” He also mistakenly assumes “women were probably more adept readers than men” on the American frontier, woefully ignorant of the lack of basic education open to them. Jane Franklin, Ben’s sister, rose up in my mind, embarrassed about the spelling errors in her letters to him.