
Jonathan Franzen: A Defense
Jonathan Franzen stands accused of insufficient Oprah gratitude. And since his infamous banishment from the Winfrey polis on Oct. 12, that sin, in turn, has dilated into nearly every character flaw imaginable—he's arrogant, elitist, hypocritical, snobbish, and flat-out stupid. Such, at any rate, has been the verdict of nearly every commentator since the curiously inert affaire Oprah has exercised the literary world and its wags.
But what, exactly, has he said? He's ambivalent, that's all. In an interview with the Portland Oregonian, he did utter the fateful characterization of himself as a writer "solidly in the high art literary tradition." Yet right after that damnably high-falutin' "high art" phrase, he said, "but I like to read entertaining books, and this [i.e., his Oprah selection] helps bridge that gap, but it also heightens the feelings of being misunderstood." Regardless of what anyone thinks about Franzen's talent, that sentence is much too convoluted and halting to be hypocritical or disingenuous. Likewise, his other infamous pronouncement, on the Powell's bookstore Web site, bespeaks less foppish disdain for the besotted taste of the masses than simple bewilderment. Yes, he said that Oprah has "picked enough shmaltzy one-dimensional [novels] that even I cringe." But he also rushed to remind his interviewer that "I think she's really smart and fighting the good fight. And she's an easy target."
Well, not so easy as it turns out. Not only did Oprah disinvite Franzen from his scheduled October "Book Club" appearance; she issued a self-serving pronouncement that clamored with unseemly haste to the rhetorical high ground: "It is never my intention to make anyone uncomfortable or cause anyone conflict." The press then duly intoned the pleasing untruth that Franzen had pronounced himself too delicate and refined for the Oprah set; and the piling on of columnists and correspondents commenced.
But why is it, I wonder, that amid all the righteous posturing over Jonathan Franzen's alleged elitism, no one has expended any critical scrutiny on Ms. Winfrey's particular haughty outburst? Here, after all, is a leading arbiter of public taste breaking off a brewing literary debate on grounds of prospective discomfort and conflict. As a longtime bookworm (and let it be known, a good American fan of a great deal of mass culture), I had always taken conflict and discomfort—and ambivalence, for that matter—to be robust signs of a health in a cultural democracy. These chafing virtues are how literary debates (and kindred political ones) get settled. They are also how we remind ourselves that something serious is at stake in literary life—that it's not simply a healing anodyne for souls in various states of recovery, but something on which we can risk public disapproval, feuds, fallings out, even lawsuits. Some 40 years ago, critics and novelists would routinely accuse each other of every manner of aesthetic and political betrayal, and our literary culture thrived. There were even heated debates over high, low, and mass culture, which proceeded on the unabashed assumption that all parties concerned—general readers emphatically included—could benefit from hashing out literary hierarchies, and that such hierarchies need not be dirty words. It was an atmosphere that bred a rich ferment of innovative, challenging and popular new novels, such as Catch-22, The Adventures of Augie March, and The Group. Now, everyone has the good pseudopopulist sense to deride the simple notion of "high" art—largely due to the befuddled, mistaken transposition of such terms into the register of class antagonism—and a thousand Wally Lambs bloom.
Instead of condemning the tortured Mr. Franzen into the outer darkness of NPR, the thin-skinned Ms. Winfrey should have had him go ahead and air his mixed feelings on her show, the way he had before other interviewers. They seemed able to handle it. And maybe she and her book club, who have indeed performed many good services for American readers, could then come to accept that ambivalence, conflict, and discomfort are nothing to fear.
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Eliza asks: "What publishing person in his right mind would get on the wrong side of Oprah, when she has the power to make your career with a single phone call?" As someone who's worked in publishing for 20 years, I think she's missing a much more basic source of the fury launched against Franzen by publishing types. When an editor finds a manuscript she loves, she'll often devote years to making it into a successful book. She not only has to work carefully and closely with the author to make the manuscript as sharp as it can be. She's also got to do constant battle within her own company to make sure the book gets attention from the marketing and sales staff. And in the end, what happens 99 percent of the time? The book comes out, sells a lousy 3,000 copies, and is completely forgotten in a month. What offends publishing people about Franzen's Oprah dis is that he blithely blew his grab at the gold ring--to actually have his book, his baby, read by a whole lot of people. It's an opportunity few authors ever get, so it's just plain ugly to see it squandered.
--Neely O’Hara
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Who can blame [Franzen]? There have been any number of Oprah picks that aren't at all shallow. Andre Dubus, Tawni O'Dell (and who would have thought that someone named Tawni could write a serious book), and, of course, Toni Morrison (and who would have thought that someone named Toni...never mind). Still, who came blame any serious writer for being a little ambivalent about the whole selection. This is Oprah we're talking about, a reasonably intelligent and articulate person, no denying, but she's also someone who called Gary Zukav's nonsensical Seat of the Soul the most important book she's ever read!
--Edita Booke
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Is it possible to defend Franzen? Probably not, but I'm always up for a logical challenge.
Franzen's assertion, put crudely, is that his book is too deep for the likes of Oprah and co. I don't believe this to be true, but it also isn't inconceivable--for example, some books require special training or background to read (textbooks, for example). Franzen's assertion then could simply mean that high art types have a different background than Oprah's people which allows them understand his book. Is this true? This is difficult to answer because it is only in Franzen's minds that these groups really exist in coherent form--but I can also imagine believing that anyone who values Oprah's opinion on books might be ill-equipped to read Franzen's book. This is clearer if you imagine a Pat Robertson book club--it might sell books, but a lot of people wouldn't like to be on his list, just for reasons of fundamental incompatibility (without implying failings on the part of the readers).
Given that Franzen made this assertion in an insulting fashion, Oprah responded quite reasonably--but she also could have shown him his assertion is incorrect by inviting him to discuss his views. Now, you don't wish to have an idiot on to discuss his views, but if she initially held a positive opinion of his ideas (indicated by the book selection), his expression of disdain for her should not alter that--although she might not personally respect him.
So here's a positive spin on it:
Franzen's Assertions:
1) Oprah's audience comprise a set of individuals with some commonalities of philosophy and style .
2) That philosophy and style are contrary to my own and so I do not wish to promote my book to these people.
Oprah's possible responses:
1) That's it for you!
2) I respect the ideas expressed in your book and believe you to be incorrect in your judgments about my audience. Regardless of your opinion of me, why don't you give it a shot, and we can also discuss your thoughts on "high art."
Oprah largely chose option 1.
--Devil on the shoulder of the ghost of a-z
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(11/5)