Monthly Archives: February 2017

Book Review – Every Writer Has a Thousand Faces (By: David Biespiel)

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Every Writer Has a Thousand Faces is another one of those short essay-style books based on a lecture given by the author, David Biespiel, (a name I shall never spell right the first time) in 2009. The book, published in 2010, outlines and reiterates for various forms Biespiel’s personal process of creating things that require creativity (in his case poetry). In short it is “fail” again and again (ostensibly to learn) and put off doing a “first draft” until you fail into one where you can revise. And he does a much better job (albeit in many more words) explaining that in his book than I just did. But is his method clear and really “different” or just a case of semantics and psychology?

The structure of the book is a rising set of anecdotes of Biespiel’s early(er) writing career that lead to the creation of his current writing “system” and a set of falling anecdotes about other creative people Biespiel has met who share similar creative “procedures”, sandwiched with an introduction/thesis, solidification of the theory, and a conclusion. All of this done in a rather brief amount of text but with ample explanation of the various parts of this “theory” of creating that is one of those things that is simple to understand but difficult to put into words.

Before getting quite into the explanation of the “theory” for creating presented in the book, I must reveal my bias. I’m not a poetry person. I don’t like it; I don’t get it. Biespiel is a poet, and while he does take time to showcase (with other creative persons) his system’s ability to be adapted to other creative mediums, he never quite captures it. Just like I never quite “get” the poems presented during examples of his method. I have tired many times in various ways to “get” poetry and I am just unable to. But I will try my best to examine the system in the book in the way it was intended to be used: for all creative endeavors, and not let my bias against the main examples given affect my overall reading too much, as Biespiel does when he demonstrates the similarities of his system and those used by a sculptor, a sketcher, and a novelist.

Biespiel’s method, created after years of using the more “standard” “draft-and-revise” method, is one of continuous “failure” where a creator has goals less along the lines of “create something that is good or that can at least can be fixed to be good” and more like “continue creating and exploring until something is arrived at that satisfies you (and then maybe can be fixed into something publishable)”. How this actually differs from our more standard terms of “practice” and “imagination” is more psychological than actual. Biespiel’s real goal seems more to be semantically twisting the definition of failure in such a way that it can be justified to the brain. Failure is no longer something to dread or fix-away as you move from a first draft, but a tool of learning and examining that allows one to grow in their endeavor (again: practice). I don’t know if it’s because Biespiel is mainly a writer, a form of creativity often linked to revision instead of simply throwing the “practice” out, or just that the linking of terms never occurred to him before (as I suppose it doesn’t in most people), but I can’t help but think when reading “isn’t that just what everyone does?” I mean, it’s ridiculous to expect and an artist with ink to create something store-worthy every time they lay it down. So they practice, and create tens to hundreds (maybe even thousands) of drawings that will never see the light of day in order to get good enough to create something “releasable” (or sell-able). In Biespiel’s language “they fail many times to learn more about themselves and their medium”.

As I read I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I wasn’t on board with the book. My recurring thought was essentially “doesn’t everyone already do this? At least, those serious about their creative endeavor?” I draw and write every day, and most of it doesn’t see the light of the outside world, but I need the “exercise”. It’s almost like the book is “art-ifying” the creation of art. That is, creating a layer of “complication” on top that must be “understood” in order to “get” it. You need to trick your brain in order to understand it. In reality Biespiel isn’t nearly so pretentious (in this book; I haven’t read his other work) but always seems to be teetering on the cusp, waiting to take the plunge into the vocabulary and processes that expel the outsider. I grasped what he was trying to say but it never felt solid, it almost seemed like he was making it too simple for me (someone one the outside).

That’s a bit of a trait with many books outlining a process or some from of “self-help” (as well as not getting to a real “point”) and I tried not to harp on it too much (fat lot of good that did me). But once I made the connection in my head it became impossible to ignore and consumed my thoughts about the book. The system presented is different than simply practice, but not enough that I feel it warrants the vocabulary change.

Still, with that taken into account, does the book succeed in doing what it set out to do? provide a system for the creation of works of “art” that can be applied to many different mediums and has been successful for the author (and hopefully you)? Yes, quite well, and it gets better toward the end. It is an understandable and viable method of creating that has been implemented by its creator and can be implemented fairly easily by others. The explanation of using the system and variations on it are enlightening and probably do more to actually explain what the author means better than his straight explanations. From Biespiel’s “word-pallets” to Jun Kaneko’s dangos, or Phil Sylvester’s many sketches (from which the book derives its name) you get a good sense of what is going on and how the different ideas presented can be applied differently to different media. It’s all conveyed rather smartly with some repetition to drill it into your head (which I don’t care for but I admit is necessary in many process books).

So would I recommend it? Yes, to creative people. But it isn’t essential reading. I’m personally a bit ho-hum about it. I’m glad I read it for its interesting perspective and it was quite brief. But I don’t think it adds enough to or solidifies the argument well enough to be of too much note. It isn’t a book for everyone, in fact it’s quite targeted and even to that target audience I won’t go around handing out copies. If you’re already interested in it or are a fan of the author’s other works I’d say go for it, otherwise I’d only get it second-hand.

Book Review – Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary (By: David Sedaris)

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Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is a collection of “comedy” “short stories” by David Sedaris, a writer most known for his humorous essays on various “life” topics. Sedaris was recommended to me by a couple of gentlemen on the street who were purchasing some of my books (I mention this because it’s a sentence I really wanted to say) and as it turned out I already had one of his books, though it is a departure from his usual style (from what I understand, at least). So it might not be the most representative of his works, but is it a good one?

The book consists of 16 stories (Fables? Tales? Skits? Scenes? I’m having trouble coming up with the right word…) that are quite short, most being under seven pages with illustrations and the longest being only 20 pages. Every story has at least one illustration, usually at the beginning or end, though some have more (I assume where more story progression potential was presented by the images). These illustrations, by Ian Falconer, are very skillfully done, and in a very interesting style. I would say I am an overall fan of the aesthetic, but there are certainly points in this book where I think the artwork goes too far (though that is, of course, partly the fault of the story). It is very strange to see artwork that appeals to me present such repulsive images. But I do think that the “kids-book” style juxtaposed with the at-times grotesque content works well as part of the overall atmosphere the creators were going for, and Falconer, being mainly a children’s book author/illustrator (mostly the Olivia books, which I haven’t read but have knowledge of), is well suited to create that look (though I do have a fear of this book being mixed in with children’s books accidentally in second-hand shops and the like).

The stories (fables, whatever) themselves feature animals (simply named “rabbit” or “squirrel”) that are anthropomorphized, though less than in most fables, modern or traditional. The animals have the ability to understand all of the other animals (and humans, it seems) in plain English, but they can’t communicate with humans or perform many actions based on the flow of the story. When it is convenient for a rabbit to be able to heft a big stick, or a parrot wear a costume, they can, but cows and bears still prefer to walk on 4 legs, and most animals can’t escape farms, laboratories, and zoos. I have trouble nailing down what exactly these stories are (as should be obvious), Sedaris’ writing is dry, short, and distinctly modern, and most of the stories’ “morals” are not driven home or they are dunked in woe. Still, they most resemble fables with their talking animals and “morals”. While this isn’t a problem (and perhaps the world needs more works that don’t fit any one genre) it does lead to a problem I have, not necessarily with the book, but with the description of the book. From the back cover, to the genre it’s categorized under, to most of the reviews, this book is called “comedy” or “humor”, a point with which I will have to disagree. Separated from whether or not I liked the writing, all but the first few stories certainly aren’t “funny” (well, they might be in the odd sense) and while they have the “logical-illogical twist” that creates most (perhaps all) humor, this twist is not humorous, but macabre. I’m not one to say that “black humor” doesn’t have a place, or isn’t funny, or even good, but here I just don’t get the “joke” because as far as I can tell there isn’t one. I certainly wasn’t laughing, or even chuckling to myself, while reading.

That isn’t intended to say I disliked the book. While I’m not usually a fan of things in this “area”, I wasn’t having a bad time when reading this book. It was a very interesting modern (and cynical?) look at the fable formula. The morals are blunt and real, with the subjects being harsh and at times violent. Really it’s not unlike the fables of old before they were watered down in their modern retellings. And that makes for a fascinating idea and read. It’s a refreshing look at the idea and a good implementation of the elements of the fable. Most of the stories convey heavy and complex messages in very simple, down-to-earth language that sounds very real; the vernacular (or language of the common fable⸮ {irony mark}) if you will. And while the writing is simple and dry it isn’t boring. It compels the reader to continue while still providing ample logical stopping points at the end of each brief story.

It didn’t take me long to finish the book, which for something this “odd?” is a good thing. Sedaris knows when to stop, and how to correctly pace a story or book. Whether or not that quick read demands the cover price is up to the reader and whether they want a well-crafted piece of entertainment or a bang-for-their-buck piece of longer entertainment. Though if one does go in blind and ends up not liking the book at least it is relatively brief. It packs less of a punch time-wise than most books of its size but more than some graphic novels of its size, and Sedaris and Falconer are both masters of their craft in full control of exactly where they want it to go.

I have a hard time summing this one up. I’m glad I read it, I had a fairly good time reading it, and I would say it’s a good, but not great book. But I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone without extensive knowledge of what they have enjoyed previously, and even then it’s unlikely since the tone isn’t reflected in much other writing. It isn’t a work that makes the world, either whole or in part, better for its existence. It’s strange, visceral, cynical, and at times unpleasant to read. If its own strangeness, or the “challenge” it presents to the beliefs or thoughts floating around in your head warrant its existence in your mind then it is a book that should be out there. But even with that and the undeniable skill of its creators I wouldn’t be handing it off, or giving it as a recommendation or present to anyone. Indeed I’d struggle to find where its audience is.