It’s National Library Week, everyone!

May I recommend that you donate to your local library? Or you could patronize the delectable Library Bistro in Seattle, or this chic modern Library Resort in Thailand.
It’s National Library Week, everyone!

We here at Olivia Waite are terrible at office jobs, but love a well-made business card. In the past we have gone with elegant black text on a matte white background because it stands out in the sea of glossy cover images and author photos (and also because it is cheap). But since we’re going to the Romantic Times convention in Chicago in a few weeks—all the cool kids are doing it—we decided it was time to step up and get ourselves something fancy.
Behold!
These are masterpieces in miniature, tactile and luxurious. The design and letterpress printing (letterpress! I swoon!) were accomplished by the marvelous Boxcar Press, who were an absolute delight to work with.
And yeah, I’m a digital author, but I grew up loving print books and moveable type and the Book of Kells and old book smell and libraries with narrow aisles and all those bibliophilic things that are comfort food for the soul. I’ve illuminated manuscripts before just for fun. I still get fizzy with delight when someone sends me a letter in the mail, too. The prophets of doom (cough cough Konrath) would have us believe that print is dead, or very nearly so.
They can have print books when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.
{Editor’s note: this post ran a little long. What can I say—I got on a roll.}
Stop the presses! Someone’s written a fool piece on mixing guttersnipe genre fiction with fancypants literature!
We here at Olivia Waite will now provide a public service: we read this nonsense so you don’t have to. And then we pull out our favorite bits, for some well-deserved snarkery.
Basic thrust of the Atlantic article: some literary dudes have been taking things (detectives, zombies, superheroes) that we normally associate with lowbrow genre fiction (mystery, sci-fi, comics) and putting highbrow literary sentences around them. This is presented as a deviation from earlier trends in American literature. Or, as our author puts it:
The trappings of genre fiction—monsters, masked marvels, gizmos, and gumshoes—are no longer quarantined to the bookstore aisles reserved for popular fiction. Horror, mystery and science-fiction books have spread their genetic code to a foreign habitat: the literature section.
To understand why this is significant, it’s important to stress how rare genre interpolations were in late 20th-century fiction. In the 1980s and 1990s, serious writers trafficked in realistic tales, simply told. Led by their patron saint, Raymond Carver, American minimalists like Grace Paley, Amy Hempel, Richard Ford, Anne Beattie, and Tobias Wolff used finely-tuned vernacular to explore the everyday problems of everyday people.
So yeah, there’s a definite sense that writing intelligently about vampires does not automatically disqualify you from the Pulitzer list in the way that it used to.
But—then we get this as part of the argument: “Discounting a few notable (and unclassifiable) isoladoes like Toni Morrison, Margaret Atwood, and Don Delillo…”
I’m going to stop you right there, Joe Fassler, recent Iowa Writers’ Workshop Graduate and unrepentant user of the word isolado, because what that sentence actually means is: Please ignore all these authors, who undermine the point I am trying to make.
Here’s me getting all book-snobby: Do you really think it’s wise to support a theory of modern literary history that has to discount the incomparable Margaret Atwood, the inescapable Don Delillo, and Toni Fucking Morrison in one fell swoop? I’m not convinced they’re as “unclassifiable” as you seem to think.
We here at Olivia Waite can’t seem to stop talking about libraries—especially since every other day there is some new game-changing idea or industry development that needs thinking about.
Today’s (or actually yesterday’s) thing was a post by Andy on Agnostic, Maybe that argues in favor of corporate sponsorship as a way of finding funding for libraries with shrinking budgets.
If you’re anything like me, your brain went here:
Fierce Creatures (Theatrical Trailer) by NakedBrotha2007
And if you’re anything like me, especially if you’ve seen Fierce Creatures, you have a hearty distrust of corporate sponsorship. You’ve looked at its effects on major league baseball, for instance, and the terrible things that can happen when corporate interests are at odds with customer interests.
Agnostic, Maybe got this wonderful, awful idea after watching a recent documentary about product placement by a filmmaker whose name rhymes with Schmorgan Schmurlock. Earlier this week, Edward Champion at Reluctant Habits posted an interesting review of this very film and its whole gimmick:
I had hoped that the Unnamed Documentary would be a legitimate protest against corporate sponsorship using its very tools — see Chumbawamba taking money from GM to use “Pass It Along” in a commercial and then disseminating the GM money to Corpwatch to protest it, which is a very funny statement about the futility of activism. But the Filmmaker plans on taking all the money. To my knowledge, he doesn’t plan on giving the profits to anti-corporate forces or people who want to fight advertising in all of its horrific forms. There is nothing in the press notes or the end credits to suggest that he will do this. In other words, the Unnamed Documentary stands for nothing save the Filmmaker’s materialistic gains.
In short, the film is about how product placement happens, but it never questions the consequences of product placement on either individuals or the larger culture. I find this morally suspicious—especially since there are rumors that the filmmaker is planning to make another movie just like this one, therefore playing us all for suckers.
Corporate sponsorship is a dark and soulless place where libraries should fear to tread.
One of the reasons that Andy supports this unsettling proposition is that we will no longer have to listen to the gripes of people who believe that libraries are a part of the wasteful government spending all the kids are talking about these days:
The ideal of the public institution for the common benefit is no longer good enough to win the budget day anymore; the common anti-public library refrain is that “I don’t want my tax dollars paying for other people’s entertainment/literature/ computer use”. Compared to the relative status of police, fire, ambulance, and even sanitation, the library is perceived as a luxury community expenditure. In taking money from interested corporations, public librarians can tell those anti-library people that their money is no longer being used for that.
For one thing, I could find you plenty of people who don’t want tax dollars to go to police, fire, ambulance, sanitation, or anything else—is this a good enough reason for the government to stop providing police, fire, etc.?
For another, if libraries are perceived as a luxury expenditure, then maybe a better idea would be to change the perception rather than allowing library critics to carry the argument.
Or—we could find a third option.