Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird draws its name from the advice her father passed on to her brother years ago as her sibling was struggling with an assignment. While the chapters do follow a systematic -one foot in front of the other- approach, the clear topic boundaries sometimes seem to be the most organized aspect of her books; this, combined with her conversational tone, leaves me with mixed feelings on her writings.
On one hand, I do appreciate her honesty and transparency. She does her best to expose the uncertainties that come with writing as universal. In doing so, Lamott will likely calm some of us in the class (not that I can speak for more than myself) as we realize that harsh critical voice in the back of heads is not some unique personal abuse hurler, but instead a general hazard of the trade. Even better, by making us aware of the universal nature of self-doubts close relationship with writing, she gives us the hope –or illusion- that those authors we most admire have similarly suffered as we have from those little voices, and then gone on to overcome them. To me, the chapter which resonated most was “Shitty First Drafts”, as starting has always been a problem for me. For years, every paper I wrote needed to be brilliant, and in order to do that I needed brilliant inspiration. In spite of this bad habit, I think that chapter and “Plot Treatment” work well in tandem to show that good creative writing can develop over time through hard work and perseverance as much as from inspiration.
However, while the conversational –somewhat scattered- voice Lamott uses is easily understandable for me (it’s a framework which governs most of the conversations I have with my mom), it also gives Lamott such a freedom of topic that she sometimes strays into the realm of questionable necessity. Yes, her description of her book’s rejection following three years of work does more than adequately paint a picture of her despair, but does Lamott really need to describe drowning herself in alcohol and imitating a cocaine vacuum? Or continue sprinkling her rather catty snubbings of writers who she feels do not suffer as much as she for the profession, as she seemingly jokes about wishing “for bad things to rain down upon them”. Reading such things often made me put the book down, as though each time she violently derailed my pleasant train of thought in order to make a completely underwhelming point. It’s a shame so many of these little rough spots sit throughout the book, because they really take away from what I found to otherwise be an amusing read.
On one hand, I do appreciate her honesty and transparency. She does her best to expose the uncertainties that come with writing as universal. In doing so, Lamott will likely calm some of us in the class (not that I can speak for more than myself) as we realize that harsh critical voice in the back of heads is not some unique personal abuse hurler, but instead a general hazard of the trade. Even better, by making us aware of the universal nature of self-doubts close relationship with writing, she gives us the hope –or illusion- that those authors we most admire have similarly suffered as we have from those little voices, and then gone on to overcome them. To me, the chapter which resonated most was “Shitty First Drafts”, as starting has always been a problem for me. For years, every paper I wrote needed to be brilliant, and in order to do that I needed brilliant inspiration. In spite of this bad habit, I think that chapter and “Plot Treatment” work well in tandem to show that good creative writing can develop over time through hard work and perseverance as much as from inspiration.
However, while the conversational –somewhat scattered- voice Lamott uses is easily understandable for me (it’s a framework which governs most of the conversations I have with my mom), it also gives Lamott such a freedom of topic that she sometimes strays into the realm of questionable necessity. Yes, her description of her book’s rejection following three years of work does more than adequately paint a picture of her despair, but does Lamott really need to describe drowning herself in alcohol and imitating a cocaine vacuum? Or continue sprinkling her rather catty snubbings of writers who she feels do not suffer as much as she for the profession, as she seemingly jokes about wishing “for bad things to rain down upon them”. Reading such things often made me put the book down, as though each time she violently derailed my pleasant train of thought in order to make a completely underwhelming point. It’s a shame so many of these little rough spots sit throughout the book, because they really take away from what I found to otherwise be an amusing read.
Alex, I'm interested in your thoughts about what you see as extraneous material! I'll be curious to know what other folks thought. why do you think she might have included those? what do you think she was going for?
ReplyDelete