David Foster Wallace on What’s Wrong with Postmodernism: A Video Essay

“We live in a night­mare that David Fos­ter Wal­lace had in 1994,” said a tweet that put me in stitch­es last sum­mer, but I have a sense that we’ve only sunk deep­er into that hyper­ver­bal, media-obsessed, and deeply fear­ful nov­el­ist’s bad dreams since then. “The Amer­i­can writer in the mid­dle of the 20th cen­tu­ry has his hands full in try­ing to under­stand, and then describe, and then make cred­i­ble much of the Amer­i­can real­i­ty,” Philip Roth argued 55 years ago. “The actu­al­i­ty is con­tin­u­al­ly out­do­ing our tal­ents.” Now, at the begin­ning of the 21st, that actu­al­i­ty out­does not just what the com­par­a­tive­ly tra­di­tion­al Roth could come up with, but even any­thing imag­in­able by Wal­lace’s heirs in the form-break­ing, extrem­i­ty-ori­ent­ed realm of “post­mod­ernism.”

But did Wal­lace con­sid­er him­self post­mod­ernist? Asked by Char­lie Rose in a 1997 inter­view what “post­mod­ernism means in lit­er­a­ture,” he at first replied only that it means “after mod­ernism.” But soon he got into the broad­er cul­tur­al cri­tique for which he’s now remem­bered: “Post­mod­ernism has, to a large extent, run its course,” despite hav­ing made the con­sid­er­able inno­va­tion of pre­sent­ing “the first text that was high­ly self-con­scious, self-con­scious of itself as text, self-con­scious of the writer as per­sona, self-con­scious about the effects that nar­ra­tive had on read­ers and the fact that the read­ers prob­a­bly knew that.” Decades lat­er, Wal­lace saw that “a lot of the schticks of post-mod­ernism — irony, cyn­i­cism, irrev­er­ence — are now part of what­ev­er it is that’s ener­vat­ing in the cul­ture itself.”

“The Prob­lem with Irony,” Will Schoder’s video essay above, draws on Wal­lace’s inter­view with Rose and much oth­er tele­vi­su­al mate­r­i­al besides. That focus may seem slight­ly quaint in the inter­net age, but Wal­lace, a self-con­fessed tele­vi­sion addict who wrote a thou­sand-page nov­el about a video­tape so enter­tain­ing that it kills, looked into the screen and saw a real and pow­er­ful threat. “Irony, pok­er-faced silence, and fear of ridicule are dis­tinc­tive of those fea­tures of con­tem­po­rary U.S. cul­ture (of which cut­ting-edge fic­tion is a part) that enjoy any sig­nif­i­cant rela­tion to the tele­vi­sion whose weird pret­ty hand has my gen­er­a­tion by the throat,” he wrote in the 1993 essay “E Unibus Plu­ram,” blam­ing those qual­i­ties for “a great despair and sta­sis in U.S. cul­ture.”

Even as “a cer­tain sub­genre of pop-con­scious post­mod­ern fic­tion, writ­ten most­ly by young Amer­i­cans, has late­ly arisen and made a real attempt to trans­fig­ure a world of and for appear­ance, mass appeal, and tele­vi­sion [ … ] tele­vi­su­al cul­ture has some­how evolved to a point where it seems invul­ner­a­ble to any such trans­fig­ur­ing assault.” But as that cul­ture moved on from the likes of David Let­ter­man (to Wal­lace’s mind, “the iron­ic eight­ies’ true Angel of Death”) and Sein­feld to those of Jon Stew­art and Com­mu­ni­ty, Schold­er argues, its atti­tudes de-ironized some­what: “The best shows of our age aren’t find­ing humor in the gaps that have devel­oped between peo­ple. They find humor in the absurd and awk­ward attempts by peo­ple try­ing to bridge those gaps. They want to show us that humans can have real con­nec­tions and sin­cer­i­ty for each oth­er.”

And yet human­i­ty’s pas­siv­i­ty remains wor­ri­some. “Today, the aver­age week­ly screen time for an Amer­i­can adult – brace your­self; this is not a typo – is 74 hours (and still going up),” writes Andrew Post­man, son of media the­o­rist and Amus­ing Our­selves to Death author Neil Post­man, in a Guardian piece just last week. “We watch when we want, not when any­one tells us, and usu­al­ly alone, and often while doing sev­er­al oth­er things. The sound­bite has been replaced by viral­i­ty, meme, hot take, tweet.” Post­man includes Wal­lace with his father in the group of observers who “warned of what was com­ing”: a time when few can be shocked by, among oth­er cur­rent phe­nom­e­na, “the rise of a real­i­ty TV star, a man giv­en to loud, inflam­ma­to­ry state­ments, many of which are spec­tac­u­lar­ly untrue but vir­tu­al­ly all of which make for what used to be called ‘good tele­vi­sion.’ ” Stay tuned, if you must.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

30 Free Essays & Sto­ries by David Fos­ter Wal­lace on the Web

David Fos­ter Wal­lace: The Big, Uncut Inter­view (2003)

David Fos­ter Wal­lace Talks About Lit­er­a­ture (and More) in an Inter­net Cha­t­room: Read the 1996 Tran­script

Ani­ma­tions Revive Lost Inter­views with David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck

David Fos­ter Wal­lace Sub­scribes to the The Believ­er Mag­a­zine with a Lit­tle Humor & Snark (2003)

Noam Chom­sky Calls Post­mod­ern Cri­tiques of Sci­ence Over-Inflat­ed “Poly­syl­lab­ic Tru­isms”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch “Geometry of Circles,” the Abstract Sesame Street Animation Scored by Philip Glass (1979)

Look into the child­hood of any high­ly inno­v­a­tive Amer­i­can artist of the past cou­ple gen­er­a­tions, and you’ll prob­a­bly find at least a trace of Sesame Street. The long-run­ning chil­dren’s pub­lic tele­vi­sion series, though wide­ly regard­ed as a sound source of enter­tain­ment and edu­ca­tion for the coun­try’s young­sters, has also done more than its part to expose its quite lit­er­al­ly grow­ing audi­ence to the vast pos­si­bil­i­ties of cre­ation. This has proven espe­cial­ly so in the realm of music, where the show’s per­form­ing guests have includ­ed Her­bie Han­cock, Nina Simone, and Grace Slick — to name just three of the ones we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here.

But Sesame Street, known in its hey­day for a stead­fast refusal to talk down to its view­ers, no mat­ter how small, has also demon­strat­ed a reach far out­side rock, pop, and soul. In 1979 it aired “Geom­e­try of Cir­cles,” a series of four ani­ma­tions with music by min­i­mal­ist, “repet­i­tive structure”-oriented com­pos­er Philip Glass, who turns 80 years old today. Pro­duc­er Cathryn Aison, accord­ing to the Mup­pet Wiki, com­mis­sioned Glass to score her visu­al work, whose sto­ry­boards had already got­ten the go-ahead from Chil­dren’s Tele­vi­sion Work­shop.

The music she received from Glass to accom­pa­ny this show of shape, line, and col­or “under­scores the ani­ma­tion in a style that close­ly resem­bles the ‘Dance’ num­bers and the North Star vignettes writ­ten dur­ing the same time peri­od as his Ein­stein on the Beach opera.”

“Glass has writ­ten scores to The Tru­man Show and Notes on a Scan­dal and his style is much imi­tat­ed,” writes Tele­graph “opera novice” Sameer Rahim by way of back­ground on the com­poser’s wide range of oth­er work in a review of his five-hour for­mal­ist col­lab­o­ra­tion with exper­i­men­tal the­ater direc­tor Robert Wil­son. “Any­one, like me, born in 1981 has absorbed his musi­cal gram­mar with­out real­is­ing.” Though a few years too young to have caught “Geom­e­try of Cir­cles” in its first run (and hav­ing grown up in the wrong coun­try in any case), the will­ing­ness of cre­ators like Glass to work in all kinds of set­tings, and the will­ing­ness of venues like Sesame Street to have them, plant­ed the seeds for count­less careers, both today’s and tomor­row’s, in art, in math­e­mat­ics, and no doubt even in exper­i­men­tal opera.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Min­i­mal Glimpse of Philip Glass

Watch Philip Glass Remix His Own Music—Then Try it Your­self With a New App

‘The Bal­lad of the Skele­tons’: Allen Ginsberg’s 1996 Col­lab­o­ra­tion with Philip Glass and Paul McCart­ney

Watch Jazzy Spies: 1969 Psy­che­del­ic Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion, Fea­tur­ing Grace Slick, Teach­es Kids to Count

Watch Nina Simone Sing the Black Pride Anthem, “To Be Young, Gift­ed and Black,” on Sesame Street (1972)

Watch Her­bie Han­cock Rock Out on an Ear­ly Syn­the­siz­er on Sesame Street (1983)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch Mr. Rogers Persuade Congress to Stop Cutting PBS Budget in 1969

Yes­ter­day, the news broke that the Trump admin­is­tra­tion will appar­ent­ly be slash­ing fed­er­al spend­ing, to the tune of $10.5 tril­lion over 10 years. Accord­ing to The Hill, the “depart­ments of Com­merce and Ener­gy would see major reduc­tions in fund­ing.” And “the Cor­po­ra­tion for Pub­lic Broad­cast­ing [aka PBS] would be pri­va­tized, while the Nation­al Endow­ment for the Arts and Nation­al Endow­ment for the Human­i­ties would be elim­i­nat­ed entire­ly.”

Attempts to cut fund­ing for the arts is noth­ing new. Above, we take you back to 1969, when Richard Nixon planned to reduce PBS’ fund­ing from $20 mil­lion to $10 mil­lion. That is, until Fred Rogers, the gen­tle cre­ator of Mis­ter Rogers’ Neigh­bor­hood, spent six short min­utes before Sen­a­tor John Pas­tore, the chair­man of the Sub­com­mit­tee on Com­mu­ni­ca­tions, and made his pitch for pub­licly-fund­ed edu­ca­tion­al tele­vi­sion. In those 360 sec­onds, Rogers gets the gruff sen­a­tor to do a com­plete 180 – to end up say­ing “It looks like you just earned the 20 mil­lion dol­lars.”

It’s unlike­ly that Mr. Rogers could get the same trac­tion today. Quite the con­trary, his sweet­ness and sin­cer­i­ty would like­ly be mocked quite mer­ci­less­ly, a sign of how coarse our soci­ety has become these days.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mr. Rogers Intro­duces Kids to Exper­i­men­tal Elec­tron­ic Music by Bruce Haack & Esther Nel­son (1968)

Mr. Rogers Takes Break­danc­ing Lessons from a 12-Year-Old (1985)

Mis­ter Rogers Turns Kids On to Jazz with Help of a Young Wyn­ton Marsalis and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends (1986)

 

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Watch an Epic, 4‑Hour Video Essay on the Making & Mythology of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

If you’re like me, every lit­tle bit of infor­ma­tion doled out for the upcom­ing third sea­son of Twin Peaks is like a series of clues found along a dark path through the Ghost­wood Nation­al For­est. We’ve seen brief views of some major char­ac­ters. We’ve heard Ange­lo Badala­men­ti con­firm he’s back to score the series. We picked up and speed read the Mark Frost-writ­ten Secret His­to­ry. We know that it will be 18 hours of pure David Lynch and Mark Frost, and that what­ev­er it may do, it won’t go all wonky and not-so-good like the ter­ri­ble trough in the mid­dle of Sea­son Two. And now we have a date for the pre­miere: May 21.

So it’s not time to brew cof­fee, or put a cher­ry pie in the oven, just yet. Instead, it’s time to bone up on the series itself and ask our­selves, is Twin Peaks a failed series that needs to be rec­ti­fied? Or if Lynch and Frost had nev­er agreed to revis­it their icon­ic work, would we still have a cohe­sive work?

Video essay­ist Joel Bocko says yes, and has made what is prob­a­bly the defin­i­tive and most thor­ough analy­sis of the series out there on the web.

I first stum­bled across Jour­ney Through Twin Peaks one night, and think­ing that it was only one short video essay I start­ed watch­ing. My mis­take: episode one was only the first in a 28-chap­ter series that totaled over four hours, arranged in four parts. And, yes, I sat and watched the whole damn thing.

Bocko is good, real good. This is not uncrit­i­cal fan wor­ship. This is a man, like many of us, who fell in love with the tran­scen­dent heights of the show and suf­fered through its mis­er­able lows, but, through that mis­ery, fig­ured out what made the show such a game-chang­er.

One impor­tant thing Bocko does is give Mark Frost his due. Usu­al­ly hid­den behind the art and the mythos of Lynch, Frost brought much to the show, from the detec­tive pro­ce­dur­al frame­work to themes of the occult and Theos­o­phy. Bocko shows how Lynch came out of the Twin Peaks expe­ri­ence with a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent and much more com­plex idea of char­ac­ter. Before Peaks, Lynch’s work saw good and evil exist­ing not just on oppo­site sides of the spec­trum, but as dif­fer­ent char­ac­ters. (Think of Blue Vel­vet.) In the films he makes after­wards, dop­pel­gangers, fugue states, and self-nega­tion, along with the spir­i­tu­al con­fu­sion that come with it, are cen­tral to Lynch’s work.

But that’s just one of the many insights wait­ing for you in this reward­ing ana­lyt­i­cal work, which also takes in Fire Walk With Me and Mul­hol­land Dr. through to Inland Empire. Suf­fice it to say, it’s full of spoil­ers, so pro­ceed with cau­tion.

On the oth­er hand, if you don’t have time before the pre­miere, you can always watch the first sea­son in under a minute here.

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Twin Peaks Tarot Cards Now Avail­able as 78-Card Deck

David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Title Sequence, Recre­at­ed in an Adorable Paper Ani­ma­tion

Hear the Music of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Played by the Exper­i­men­tal Band, Xiu Xiu: A Free Stream of Their New Album

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Jim Henson Creates an Experimental Animation Explaining How We Get Ideas (1966)

What do ideas look like?

Jim Henson’s looked very much like a Mup­pet nose, as evi­denced by “The Idea Man,” a 1966 three-minute ani­ma­tion, above.

The film was orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed to be part of a live mul­ti­me­dia per­for­mance on The Mike Dou­glas Show. The real star of that seg­ment was Lim­bo, an abstract Mup­pet, whose phys­i­cal man­i­fes­ta­tion was but a dis­em­bod­ied mouth and a pair of eyes, oper­at­ed by two pup­peteers.

Hen­son favored the bod­i­less Lim­bo (who even­tu­al­ly mor­phed in Sesame Street’s Nobody) as a deliv­ery mech­a­nism for some of his more pro­found mus­ings.

His vocal char­ac­ter­i­za­tion imbued Lim­bo with a fair­ly Eey­ore-ish out­look, though occa­sion­al­ly one catch­es an echo of Henson’s most famous cre­ation—Ker­mit the Frog, mak­ing a brief, unbilled appear­ance, here, along with John F. Kennedy, Mad mag­a­zine’s Alfred E. Neu­man, and Kuk­la of Kuk­la, Fran and Ollie.

Lim­bo, now just a dis­em­bod­ied voice as far as you and I are con­cerned, bemoans that all the real­ly good ideas have already been taken—the safe­ty pin, tele­vi­sion, Atom­ic ener­gy…

Even­tu­al­ly, though, he suc­cumbs to the sort of excit­ed curios­i­ty that fired his cre­ator, con­ced­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ty of one “glo­ri­ous­ly mar­velous, great big beau­ti­ful idea,” visu­al­ized as the sort of gid­dy, col­lage pile-up beloved by Ter­ry Gilliam.

Watch more of Henson’s exper­i­men­tal short films here.

The Idea Man” will be added to the Ani­ma­tion sec­tion of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch The Sur­re­al 1960s Films and Com­mer­cials of Jim Hen­son

Jim Henson’s Vio­lent Wilkins Cof­fee Com­mer­cials (1957–1961)

A Young Jim Hen­son Teach­es You How to Make Pup­pets with Socks, Ten­nis Balls & Oth­er House­hold Goods (1969)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Famed Art Critic Robert Hughes Hosts the Premiere of 20/20, Where Tabloid TV News Began (1978)

A few years ago we fea­tured The Shock of the New, respect­ed crit­ic Robert Hugh­es’ eight-part doc­u­men­tary series on mod­ern art, which since its first broad­cast in 1980 has stood as a sig­nal achieve­ment in intel­li­gent tele­vi­sion. But Hugh­es also had a hand in the devel­op­ment of, shall we say, unin­tel­li­gent tele­vi­sion, hav­ing two years ear­li­er co-host­ed the pre­mier of ABC’s still-run­ning news­magazine show 20/20. His new­ly (and posthu­mous­ly) pub­lished vol­ume of essays and auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal writ­ings The Spec­ta­cle of Skill devotes an entire chap­ter to the sto­ry of this tele­vi­su­al event, much bal­ly­hooed in pro­mos like the one just above.

“I was hired in some fit of aber­ra­tion,” Hugh­es wrote in a 1995 New York Review of Books piece that would become the chap­ter’s basis. “My fel­low anchor was the now, alas, late Harold Hayes, who had been a bril­liant edi­tor of Esquire but, like me, proved to have lit­tle tal­ent for sit­ting in front of a TV cam­era with make­up all over his face and recit­ing lines that had been writ­ten for him by oth­er peo­ple.” Their pro­duc­er made it clear that “nei­ther Hayes nor I was to have any say in what we would say,” that “the sto­ries had to have an ‘inter­est­ing’ angle; mere news val­ue would not do,” and that “the audi­ence out there could be assumed to have the atten­tion span of cad­dis flies.”

View­ers who tuned in to the very first 20/20 on the evening of June 6th, 1978 were treat­ed to cul­tur­al announce­ments such as that of Sat­ur­day Night Fever’s posi­tion at the top of the record charts; an inter­view with Flip Wil­son offer­ing “a long stretch of pushy bathos” about the come­di­an’s fam­i­ly trou­bles; jokes about Pet Rocks; a young Ger­al­do Rivera, “fired up with sym­pa­thy,” expos­ing the use of live rab­bits to train rac­ing grey­hounds (the unmoved Hugh­es remem­bers his child­hood in Aus­tralia, where “the rab­bit is just an agri­cul­tur­al pest, a lit­tle high­er on the lad­der of exis­tence than a cane toad or a cock­roach”); a vocab­u­lary-build­ing “absur­di­ty” after each com­mer­cial break; and, bizarrely, a clay-ani­ma­tion Jim­my Carter singing “Geor­gia on My Mind.”

“All across Amer­i­ca the next morn­ing there was a col­lec­tive exha­la­tion of rage from TV crit­ics about the triv­i­al­iza­tion of news,” recalls Hugh­es. “In addi­tion to being point­less, the new ABC news mag­a­zine is dizzy­ing­ly absurd,” wrote the New York Times’ John J. O’Con­nor. The Wash­ing­ton Post’s Tom Shales likened it to “being trapped for an hour at the super­mar­ket check­out counter and hav­ing to read the front pages of blab­by tabloids over and over again,” though he did praise its “slight­ly more respectable” exam­i­na­tion of the then- and cur­rent Cal­i­for­nia gov­er­nor Jer­ry Brown’s bid for the White House. Carl Sagan, who in 1980 would make his own mon­u­men­tal con­tri­bu­tion to intel­li­gent tele­vi­sion with Cos­mos, also showed up as a promis­ing pres­ence on the cor­re­spon­dent ros­ter.

Any­one watch­ing today will, at least, appre­ci­ate the rel­a­tive brevi­ty and infre­quen­cy of the adver­tise­ments. They, along with much else seen and every­thing derid­ed in 20/20’s pre­miere, would grow enor­mous­ly more both­er­some as the decades wore on, a fact that ulti­mate­ly made Hugh­es real­ize that he had, “how­ev­er briefly and inept­ly, been part of the avant-garde of net­work tele­vi­sion. The first issue of 20/20 was unques­tion­ably one of the worst turkeys ever seen on an Amer­i­can net­work, and yet it was curi­ous­ly prophet­ic, and crit­ics like Tom Shales who saw in it an omen of the future of the TV news-mag­a­zine pro­gram were not wrong.”

Soon all of Amer­i­ca, and much of the rest of the world, would find itself set­tling for the cal­iber of view­ing mate­r­i­al set by the first 20/20, with “its sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty, its far­ci­cal chum­mi­ness, its dis­mal fix­a­tion on celebri­ty, its kitschy mock human­ism, its voyeurism, and above all its belief that real­i­ty must always take the back­seat to enter­tain­ment.” Hugh­es, in the NYRB essay and in the new book, sums up this regret­table de-evo­lu­tion with the words of Ovid. Video melio­ra proboque: dete­ri­o­ra sequor: “I see bet­ter things and approve them: I go for the worse.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Art Crit­ic Robert Hugh­es Demys­ti­fies Mod­ern Art in The Shock of the New

Remem­ber­ing Robert Hugh­es, the Art Crit­ic Who Took No Pris­on­ers

1978 News Report on the Rocky Hor­ror Craze Cap­tures a Teenage Michael Stipe in Drag

How ABC Tele­vi­sion Intro­duced Rap Music to Amer­i­ca in 1981: It’s Painful­ly Awk­ward

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Download 243 Free eBooks on Design, Data, Software, Web Development & Business from O’Reilly Media

Last week we high­light­ed for you 20 Free eBooks on Design from O’Reilly Media. Lit­tle did we know that we were just scratch­ing the sur­face of the free ebooks O’Reil­ly Media has to offer.

If you head over to this page, you can access 243 free ebooks cov­er­ing a range of dif­fer­ent top­ics. Below, we’ve divid­ed the books into sec­tions (and pro­vid­ed links to them), indi­cat­ed the num­ber of books in each sec­tion, and list­ed a few attractive/representative titles.

You can down­load the books in PDF for­mat. An email address–but no cred­it card–is required. Again the com­plete list is here.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 20 Free eBooks on Design from O’Reilly Media

Read 700 Free eBooks Made Avail­able by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia Press

A New Free eBook Every Month from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go Press

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

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John Berger (RIP) and Susan Sontag Take Us Inside the Art of Storytelling (1983)

“Some­body dies,” says John Berg­er. “It’s not just a ques­tion of tact that one then says, well, per­haps it is pos­si­ble to tell that sto­ry,” but “it’s because, after that death, one can read that life. The life becomes read­able.” His inter­locu­tor, a cer­tain Susan Son­tag, inter­jects: “A per­son who dies at 37 is not the same as a per­son who dies at 77.” True, he replies, “but it can be some­body who dies at 90. The life becomes read­able to the sto­ry­teller, to the writer. Then she or he can begin to write.” Berg­er, the con­sum­mate sto­ry­teller as well as thinker about sto­ries, left behind these and mil­lions of oth­er mem­o­rable words, spo­ken and writ­ten, when he yes­ter­day passed away at age 90 him­self.

This con­ver­sa­tion aired 35 years ago as “To Tell a Sto­ry,” an hour­long episode of Chan­nel 4’s Voic­es, “a forum of debate about the key issues in the world of the arts and the life of the mind.” Though Berg­er and Son­tag sure­ly agreed in life on more than they dis­agreed (“not since [D.H.] Lawrence has there been a writer who offers such atten­tive­ness to the sen­su­al world with respon­sive­ness to the imper­a­tives of con­science,” the lat­ter once said of the for­mer), they here enter into a kind of debate about sto­ry­telling itself: why we do it, how we do it, when we can do it. Berg­er, for his part, char­ac­ter­izes all fic­tion as “a fight against the absurd,” against “that end­less, ter­ri­fy­ing space in which we live.”

Son­tag, in the words of Lily Dessau at Berg­er’s pub­lish­er Ver­so, “con­sid­ers the sto­ry­teller as inven­tor, in con­trol of the mate­r­i­al, out of which the ‘peo­ple come.’ Berg­er con­verse­ly takes the form of the sto­ry as the result of the lan­guage com­ing out of the peo­ple — but he does char­ac­ter­ize their dif­fer­ing views as arriv­ing at the same place — the scene of the text.” While both of them wrote fic­tion as well as essays, “Berg­er con­sid­ers the sto­ry and essay in one breath, both as a form of strug­gle to mod­el the unsayable,” while “for Son­tag the two are entire­ly sep­a­rate, although the strug­gle per­sists in both.”

Or, as Berg­er puts it in high­light­ing anoth­er aspect of the dif­fer­ence in their per­spec­tives, “You say you want to be car­ried away by the sto­ry. I want the sto­ry to stop things being car­ried away into obliv­ion, into indif­fer­ence.” The many trib­utes already paid to him, espe­cial­ly by influ­en­tial cre­ators formed in part by the influ­ence of his work, indi­cate that Berg­er’s lega­cy hard­ly finds itself now on the brink of an indif­fer­ent obliv­ion. Now that his long life has reached the end of its final chap­ter, well, per­haps we can begin to read, and to tell, his sto­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Til­da Swin­ton Gets a Por­trait Drawn by Art Crit­ic John Berg­er

Susan Sontag’s 50 Favorite Films (and Her Own Cin­e­mat­ic Cre­ations)

48 Hours of Joseph Camp­bell Lec­tures Free Online: The Pow­er of Myth & Sto­ry­telling

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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