Let’s Resist the Culture of Idolatry in American Literature

Monica Byrne
photo by Donald E. Byrne, III

In a bold and insightful piece by writer Monica Byrne, she discusses how, as an emerging writer, she created a list of her favorite authors titled “My Idols.” But she scratched that out, then wrote “My Models.” Then, finally, “My Peers.” Why?

… I realized the difference between admiration and idolatry. How I placed the famous writer’s innate talent beyond my grasp. … There was nothing essentially different about me and my capabilities, except time and practice. However, I notice a strong culture of idolatry in American literature that restricts writers’ sense of possibility for themselves—as if their idols produce nothing but genius unapproachable work; and also, as if it’s not even conceivable they could ever be as good. But it’s just not true.

Read the entire piece—inspiring and honest. And when you’re done, check out these other essays on writing over at the latest Glimmer Train bulletin:

 

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christinakatz

I totally agree. I think social media is helping us do a bit better with this, especially when otherwise famous writers are willing to show themselves as real people. But generally speaking, the culture of putting books and authors on a pedestal is alive and well, and it’s probably slowing down the revolutionary idea that maybe, just maybe anyone could write a good book if they had the support, tools, and conviction required…which is what I believe. The problem is when folks believe they deserve the result of the great book without investing the long, hard work. However, as it has always been, and I confess to feeling this way myself sometimes, often we would rather have written than have to work as hard as it takes to write a good book. So we definitely should embrace the idea that less time projecting our potential greatness onto others and more time with our eye on the prize is a huge shift, and a sure sign that we are that much closer to success.

Jeff Shear

Monica makes an important and entertaining point, but I have a different take. Typically, when the cocktail chat comes around to the job of a writer, someone will surely will the point that they have a book in them. “If they only had the time.” Ask that same person if they could pitch in Yankee stadium or play violin, and you would draw a laugh. We all know that story. Truth is, not everyone can sing opera. It takes a special voice, which is a demonstrable gift. I, for instance, would never presume to have the voice of a great writer; that does not mean I don’t have a voice. Which brings me to my own Monica-like anecdote. One summer’s eve, a friend and I got together for a game of tennis. My friend had recently published an important book about the nation’s changing political landscape and stood in line to become the next executive editor of Esquire magazine. He’d already moved into the vacated office. The courts we played on belonged to Jerry Goodman, who made millions under the pen name Adam Smith. My tennis partner was house sitting for him. As we walked out to the courts, we passed the author’s study and I stopped. “Hold on,” I said, “I’ve never seen a real writer’s office before.” My friend replied, “You’re a writer.” He was stupefied. That got me thinking about the new chair I needed for my home office, as we walked past Goodman’s pool, where I was introduced to Carlos Fuentes. He and I shook hands, smiled at one another, and I discovered that I didn’t have a single coherent thought worth sharing. I was struck dumb. Does that show I’m an idol worshipper? Perhaps. As it turned out, that autumn my tennis partner was passed over for the prestigious job he so coveted at Esquire. The $10,000 story the magazine had assigned to me — and I had labored over for months — was summarily killed. And Carlos Fuentes? Well, he never got to sing the part of Figaro in “The Barber of Seville,” playing that September in Lincoln Center.

Jeff Shear

Monica makes an important and entertaining point, but I have a different take. Typically, when the cocktail chat comes around to the job of a writer, someone will surely make the point that they have a book in them. “If they only had the time.” Ask that same person if they could pitch in Yankee stadium or play violin, and you would draw a laugh. We all know that story. Truth is, not everyone can sing opera. It takes a special voice, which is a demonstrable gift. I, for instance, would never presume to have the voice of a great writer; that does not mean I don’t have a voice. Which brings me to my own Monica-like anecdote. One summer’s eve, a friend and I got together for a game of tennis. My friend had recently published an important book about the nation’s changing political landscape and stood in line to become the next executive editor of Esquire magazine. He’d already moved into the vacated office. The courts we played on belonged to Jerry Goodman, who made millions under the pen name Adam Smith. My tennis partner was house sitting for him. As we walked out to the courts, we passed the author’s study and I stopped. “Hold on,” I said, “I’ve never seen a real writer’s office before.” My friend replied, “You’re a writer.” He was stupefied. That got me thinking about the new chair I needed for my home office, as we walked past Goodman’s pool, where I was introduced to Carlos Fuentes. He and I shook hands, smiled at one another, and I discovered that I didn’t have a single coherent thought worth sharing. I was struck dumb. Does that show I’m an idol worshipper? Perhaps. As it turned out, that autumn my tennis partner was passed over for the prestigious job he so coveted at Esquire. The $10,000 story the magazine had assigned to me — and I had labored over for months — was summarily killed. And Carlos Fuentes? Well, he never got to sing the part of Figaro in “The Barber of Seville,” playing that September in Lincoln Center.

Greg Strandberg

Good quote.

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[…] Resist the Culture of Idolatry in Writing and Literature […]

Don Middendorf

Literary genius is the ability of one mind, to create something so true that it can be understood with striking clarity by another mind. Those minds who can see the literary genius of another, have access to that same truth, are capable of broadcasting it themselves. Beauty is the definition given to images that bring joy, created in the mind that perceives it, not the retina, it can be transmitted the other way. Also, monkeys, typewriters, Shakespeare, someone might deconstruct my rambling madness, to find some brilliant truth previously locked away inside them.

Michael

Thanks for sharing this, what a great piece. While your idols can offer inspiration, it really doesn’t help you run your business as an author. You’ve got to set realistic goals. Look to those that are a few years ahead of you. I wrote more about this (with a video) here: “Your Goals Offer Guidance” http://bit.ly/GBP-04.

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[…] Writer Monica Byrne notices a strong culture of idolatry in American literature that unnecessarily restricts writers' sense of possibility for themselves.  […]