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Sep. 2nd, 2011
Book: The Anthologist
Sep. 2nd, 2011 11:58 pmThe Anthologist
by Nicholson Baker
This is another case where I don’t recall why I put this book on my read-this list. It is only 243 pages long but I began faltering early. It is surprisingly engaging when the protagonist is arguing aloud/teaching us about poetry. Poetry may have evolved technical terms, like iambic pentameter for a reason but Paul--our protagonist--feels that those terms do nothing but isolate regular people from poetry and make them feel that it can’t be understood. He also feels that iambic pentameter is not really five beats to a measure so the text is strewn through with poetry written in music form or poetry written with the beats underneath the words. That I found interesting. And when our interlocutor occasionally wandered off to talk about the mouse that runs across the curtain rod, I was initially amused. Indeed, Paul tells us that he is not able to write an introduction to his anthology “On Rhyme” and meanwhile a great deal of the book explains what happened to rhyme in English poetry. I began to wonder if the book represented the missing introduction. Especially since the length of the hard-to-write introduction is the same as the book I held in my hand.
Listen, nothing happens in the book. Even the book flap will tell you that; I am not giving anything away. Yet, it is not like Seinfeld, about “nothing”. When Paul whines about his life, I was ready to drop the book. However, it is only 243 pages and the pages on poetry are beautiful. It is, alas, very Anglo. Paul, our protagonist does acknowledge Black poets or any poets of color. No wait, rap poetry is used at least once to point out that regular people do listen to poetry; it’s just not acknowledged as poetry. He points that out, but Paul, the anthologist never consists adding hip hop to his anthology. Nothing happens. We follow Paul as he tells his invisible readers about poetry, tries to woo our lover back, and as he attends poetry readings and conferences. When he talks about poetry, I am engaged. When he so carefully describes his environment that I know I am listening to a poet, I am engaged. When he whines about his girl friend, I am bored. If form follows function, I would say that Paul is a great poet of everyday life, but he can’t write a love poem.
by Nicholson Baker
This is another case where I don’t recall why I put this book on my read-this list. It is only 243 pages long but I began faltering early. It is surprisingly engaging when the protagonist is arguing aloud/teaching us about poetry. Poetry may have evolved technical terms, like iambic pentameter for a reason but Paul--our protagonist--feels that those terms do nothing but isolate regular people from poetry and make them feel that it can’t be understood. He also feels that iambic pentameter is not really five beats to a measure so the text is strewn through with poetry written in music form or poetry written with the beats underneath the words. That I found interesting. And when our interlocutor occasionally wandered off to talk about the mouse that runs across the curtain rod, I was initially amused. Indeed, Paul tells us that he is not able to write an introduction to his anthology “On Rhyme” and meanwhile a great deal of the book explains what happened to rhyme in English poetry. I began to wonder if the book represented the missing introduction. Especially since the length of the hard-to-write introduction is the same as the book I held in my hand.
Listen, nothing happens in the book. Even the book flap will tell you that; I am not giving anything away. Yet, it is not like Seinfeld, about “nothing”. When Paul whines about his life, I was ready to drop the book. However, it is only 243 pages and the pages on poetry are beautiful. It is, alas, very Anglo. Paul, our protagonist does acknowledge Black poets or any poets of color. No wait, rap poetry is used at least once to point out that regular people do listen to poetry; it’s just not acknowledged as poetry. He points that out, but Paul, the anthologist never consists adding hip hop to his anthology. Nothing happens. We follow Paul as he tells his invisible readers about poetry, tries to woo our lover back, and as he attends poetry readings and conferences. When he talks about poetry, I am engaged. When he so carefully describes his environment that I know I am listening to a poet, I am engaged. When he whines about his girl friend, I am bored. If form follows function, I would say that Paul is a great poet of everyday life, but he can’t write a love poem.