Is US literature provincial?
Ron Silliman is the author of more than twenty volumes of poetry and criticism, including most recently The Alphabet (University of Alabama Press) and The Age of Huts (University of California Press).
“[Engdahl’s criticisms] are valid & not valid is my take. But then I think that the only American who has received the Nobel Prize for Literature who has really earned it has been Faulkner. Giving one to Hemingway, but not to Gertrude Stein, whose literary style he normalized into his own, is like giving a Grammy to the Dave Clark Five while ignoring the Beatles. The others, without exception, show the degree to which the award is political, not literary.
If by American literature, Engdahl means the likes of Roth, Irving, Updike, Oates, then I’m entirely sympathetic to his complaint. If by it he means Pynchon or David Markson, then I’m a lot less sympathetic, because I don’t think it’s accurate there. Or Samuel R. Delany, for that matter.
I’ve always felt sad about the fact that neither Allen Ginsberg nor Robert Creeley received one, nor William Carlos Williams in the 1950s, which would have been the appropriate time to have recognized him.
In addition to John Ashbery, the only U.S. poets I would seriously consider would include Judy Grahn, who has done more to create a women’s literature than any other writer in the past half century, conceivably Adrienne Rich (or possibly the two together), Joanne Kyger, the lone great woman writer of the beat generation, or Simon Ortiz, the Sioux poet. But those aren’t the names I see being bandied about.
I think the problem that Engdahl might be having — and likewise might account for some of the reaction he’s gotten — has to do with the fact that the relationship between great writing and the trade presses is like a Venn diagram with not so much overlap. If one judged American writing by what one saw published by Random House or [Farrar, Straus and Giroux], one would be apt to conclude exactly what he has.”
Charlotte Mandell is a prolific and respected translator of French literature into English. Her recent work includes translations of Marcel Proust’s The Lemoine Affair (Melville House, 2008) and Pierre Bayard’s Sherlock Holmes Was Wrong: Reopening the Case of the Hound of the Baskervilles (Bloomsbury USA, 2008).
“It’s true that the U.S. doesn’t publish enough translations: only 3% of its publications every year are translated books. Europe publishes many more translations: ‘American publishers have one of the lowest translation rates in the Western world, according to Andrew Grabois, a consultant for Bowker, which tracks the publishing business. Only 3 percent of books published in the United States are translations (4,114 in 2005), Mr. Grabois said, compared with, for example, 27 percent in Italy. As a result, linguists contend, much of the English-speaking world knows little of other countries and cultures.’ [Source here.]
That said, it’s not true that the literary scene in America is insular. American writers like John Ashbery, Robert Kelly, Lydia Davis, Paul Auster, and Keith and Rosmarie Waldrop are not only great writers in their own right; they’re also prolific and accomplished translators (Ashbery, Davis, Auster, and the Waldrops from the French; Kelly from the German and French). Robert Kelly has published several collaborative books with German authors like the Tyrolean artist Brigitte Mahlknecht, and the German writer Schuldt; Ashbery has translated or collaborated with French writers like Raymond Roussel, Pierre Martory, and Franck-André Jamme. I would add Clayton Eshleman (who translates from the Spanish and French) and Jerome Rothenberg (who translates from just about everything). Also, Rosmarie Waldrop translates from the German as well as the French.
Young American novelists like Paul LaFarge, Edie Meidav, and Emily Barton are deeply involved with cultures outside of America. It would be wonderful if the publishing world in America were as interested in other languages and cultures as the American poets and novelists living and writing today.”
Thanks,
Ron
I really don’t want to get into this, but I feel compelled. My own response, posted last week as a comment on “Althouse” was, as RS says, that Engdahl was both right and wrong simultaneously in his disdain; however, in my opinion there is only one American poet utterly deserving of the Nobel: W.S. Merwin, because of his great long poem of some 300 pages, THE FOLDING CLIFFS. As Ted Hughes had commented, it “is a masterpiece – a truly original masterpiece, on a very big scale. I could not put it down, and read it with a mixture of amazement and admiration that went on growing to the last page.” And to further stick my rather retro 2 cents in, Hemingway was our greatest prose innovator and fictionist, and Inflation is what always comes to mind re: Gertrude Stein.
Simon Ortiz is of course Acoma, not Sioux.
Mark Weiss