Wordplay Feels You on Fake News

Today was a nice enough summer day, I guess, but nothing like as simple as some of the lazy summer days I remember from the past. Modern life is constantly throwing complications at you. If reading the news makes you cry, forget the news and just find a good book, right? Sounds good in concept, so you head over to the library and wait for it to open, getting bitten by mosquitoes and sweating in the humidity, because the building opens late on Sundays. Finally, the hour arrives, and you go in with the other patrons, looking forward to getting a new book in your hands, although experience has taught you not to get too excited these days about anything.

You plug in, pull up NoveList, and start browsing titles. You know, because you’ve done this before, that some of them will sound amazing but prove to be disappointing, but still, facts are facts: English majors are ever hopeful about books. After looking for a while, taking the time to check your account to make sure that newfangled “Book History” is still turned off (because, a little too Big-Brotherish, even if seemingly harmless for someone with mild tastes), you home in on a couple of books. One sounds Edwardian and mildly interesting, and the other catches your eye because you saw it at the bookstore’s checkout counter recently and noted that it was a retelling of a Shakespeare play.

You check out both and settle in for a little reading in a refreshingly quiet back section of the library (relatively speaking: all libraries are noisier than they once were, especially this one). You’re a few pages into the first book when that familiar sinking feeling sets in, because, alas, the story is not what you thought it would be at all. You’re not losing yourself in the pages, you’re getting annoyed, whether because the story is not what you were hoping for or because the author’s mannerisms draw attention away from the story, you’re not sure which.

Fine, put that one down and pick up the other one, the one based on Shakespeare. This is an author whom, despite his having lost you completely on his last outing, you have decided to gift with another chance. At one time, he seemed unobjectionable and even distinguished, but now . . . Did you even get off the first page or were you all the way to the second page before you began to quoth, “Nevermore!” and slam that book shut, too.

Many artists seem preoccupied these days with “peacocking.” What else do you call it when a capable and even remarkable writer good enough to write a bestseller and/or literary prize winner starts preening, winking, talking to you from the back of his/her hand, and spouting nonsense. They might as well title the book, The Only Book You Need to Read, and in substitution for other content, drop in the words, “I know everything, I’m so important, and even if I don’t know what I’m talking about, I need your undivided attention.” Someone has gotten hold of these people and ruined them.

In complete fairness, let me say that the day may come when I will have to retract some of my opinions, too. I’ve considered opposite points of view too many times for all of the ideas I’ve expressed to be true—some of them have to be wrong. You do the best you can with what you know, and when people seem determined to spread disinformation, it’s difficult to know where the truth is. In that case, you consider alternate possibilities and try not to get overly attached to a single point of view. Rather than “wishy-washy,” I prefer the Keatsian term “negative capability”—the capacity to move among different points of view without settling too firmly into one entrenched position. Yes, confusion and doubt are the hazards of this type of thinking, but I’ve never been able to understand how some people can be so sure of everything anyway. How do you know that? Don’t you think it might be better to hold off on trumpeting something until you know more about it? I feel on firm ground with very few things besides the Golden Rule as a good (though not perfect) starting point.

When I write non-fiction, I try to be accurate and without malice. When I write fiction, I just try to capture the story out of my head (no small task) and tell it as well as I can. Artistic integrity, to me, is keeping the crafting of the story as your single aim. Name-dropping, scoring points on enemies (yes, I know Dante did it, thanks for bringing that to my attention), and spreading propaganda are artistic sins that we hope most people try to avoid.

If you’re wondering, I did end up leaving the library with a book, a collection of the short novels of John Steinbeck. When I’m in doubt, I go back to the classics. I’m sure Mr. Steinbeck had his faults, too, but at least he can’t alienate me by trying too hard to be in-the-know.