Written for Alice Fenton XOX
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I don’t read anything but philosophy anymore, and I’m not able to read more than five pages at a time. Contemporary literature I completely avoid, it’s pretty much always gutless and usually pompous. While film-making seems to be becoming bolder and more interesting every year (not in Australia but certainly in the US and other places) literature has been in a downward spiral worldwide since the 1960’s and probably won’t ever recover.
The best piece of literary fiction I’ve read in the last year is Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. That one was good from beginning to end. The second important Henry Miller novel, The Tropic of Capricorn was good for the first few pages but after that it became indulgent. In the opening pages he describes to perfection a mood familiar to me. “Once you’ve given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos… There was nothing that I wished to do that I could just as well not do. Even as a child, when I wanted for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling. I felt that nothing would be proved, substantiated, added or subtracted by continuing an existence which I had not asked for. Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful ones.”
And perhaps there’s nothing on Earth more ridiculous than a successful novelist. For to be successful nowadays is to prove that one has not crossed any of the lines that would make one unpopular with administrators. In which case, if one were to become popular, it would prove that they had not been writing, but fluffing.
An acquaintance mentioned to me that she is reading the Barrack Obama autobiography, which being an autobiography would have to be of dubious veracity, being the autobiography of a politician would have to be downright questionable, and written in return for grant money, which it was, would almost certainly make it loaded with the kinds of platitudes that the current political climate thirsts for. I gave a quick unemotional expression of my position on autobiographies to this acquaintance, making a conscious attempt not to come across as hostile, and also stated that I am a self-declared cynic in the matter of the American presidency. This acquaintance described Obama’s early child hood in Indonesia, as described in the autobiography, and conveyed the impression of his mother as a deeply good woman helping her son strive for greatness. A glaring rags to riches story, that great myth which under-pins the v0racious nature of American economic activity, as a motivating kind of propaganda for the average serf. And there was Obama, rolling out the myth and setting it up as a back drop. Anyway, I expressed this use of the rags to riches myth. My acquaintance responded, after a pause, by raising her voice a righteous notch or two and stating, “I believe he is a great and wonderful man, and he is going to make the world a better place, his actions are…” blah blah blah. Or something to that effect. I had, until that point, credited this person with a fair degree of intelligence.
During that same conversation I pointed to the book I was reading, Books v. Cigarettes and said, “It’s a bit hard for me to speak optimistically about American politics and particularly the presidency while I’m reading George Orwell.” She replied that she wasn’t exactly sure who George Orwell was. If I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly surprised.
Right now I’m reading Seneca On the Shortness of Life. It may be one of the best things I’ve done. I recommend it for anyone.
Cry Bloxsome holds an honours degree in English from the University of Western Australia. He worked as a columnist and feature writer for 29 issues of LUCKY magazine.
LIVING BETWEEN FUCKS was Cry Bloxsome's first novel, for which he has received much critical praise.
THE WOODCHOPPER is Cry Bloxsome’s very latest novel.
Novels are available at his website www.crybloxsome.com 
While I agree with you, to an extent, about the plight of modern literature (presumably you consider your own writing an exception to this rule, and would find popularity an abhorrent indication of failure – in fact I’m sure you insist that no mention of your previous works be made at the end articles you pen to ameliorate the risk that the general public will actually buy your novels) overall you come across as a pretentious bore.
Now I’m no fan of America, but taking into account the true definition of the word “myth”, does Obama’s example of a rags to riches story not count because it does not fit your worldview? Or are you claiming his story is a lie? Fair enough, but be kind enough to present your acquintence with evidence to the contrary (though I’m willing to bet you have none). Surely you want your viewpoints anchored in empiricism rather than dogmatic precepts?
“While I agree with you, to an extent…” hold on… just vomiting briefly.
When some people use big words they seem smart. When other people use big words they seem like douche bags. You’re definitely a douche bag.
Secondly, I hate people that start sentences with “now”. So once again I conclude that you are a douche bag.
Thirdly, big long comments make me suspect that the comment author is screaming for attention… are you screaming for attention douche bag?
Wow. Really? An ad hominem? What a pathetic and childish response.
A bit of advice, buddy: get out of the creative industry. You’re too too sensitve to critique and too uncreative to come up with more than one insult.
Why would I take advice off a douche bag?
stop masquerading as some kind of high literary genius. Reading Orwell doesn’t make you smarter. It’s something a few hundred million people do every year.
Are you and Andrew gay lovers, by any chance?
homophobic too. i should’ve guessed.
I’m sorry, retard, can you explain to me why “you should’ve guessed” it?
Perhaps because you sound like an ignorant piece of shit?
Sophie, you little flamer.
Cry: I reccommend Down and Out in Paris and London. Orwell on life as a homeless dude. Thanks for your reccommendation.
Douche bag (or was it Retard?): Just because a few hundred million people read Orwell each year does NOT mean they comprehend it.Or that they wouldn’t rather be masturbating to Twilight. Which sickens me.
I’ve read “Down & Out in Paris and London”, you’re right, it’s great.
@ Andrew: I’ll have my dog-points rooted in empirical anchor-views. Thanks.