Sentences — June 26, 2007, 10:51 pm

Interview: Wyatt Mason on Leonard Michaels

Contributing Editor Wyatt Mason wrote about the neglected works of author Leonard Michaels (1933–2003) in “The Irresponsibility of Feelings” in the July Harper’s. Subscribers can read his essay now; non-subscribers can read it in late July.


[Archive]

LEONARD MICHAELS

Fiction

Jealousy
March 1997

After a Fight, from Sylvia
December 1992

Essays

The Action of Metaphor
January 1987

Literary Talk
December 1987

Diary of an Ex
December 1989

WYATT MASON

The Irresponsibility of Feelings, on Leonard Michaels
July 2007

How did you come to Leonard Michaels?

Through good luck. I knew nothing of Michaels until 1993, when I was living in New York City. A roommate had Sylvia, Michaels’s second novel, among his books, and I was intrigued by the cover, a pencil sketch of a woman who seemed to be keening while smoking. The pencil drawing, I learned, was a self-portrait by Sylvia Bloch, Michaels’s first wife, about whom the events of the novel turn. Anyway, at 24, this book was properly devastating for me. It was about a young man my age in a marriage that one–at least I–could not fathom. A terrifying struggle, but rendered in a prose as measured as the events it described were not. I had been reading a lot of Nabokov around that time, and Michaels’s approach to style struck me as astonishing. Effect without affect was new to me. An education in every sense, that book. Storytelling with very different aesthetic concerns.

Michaels wrote (in this magazine in 1987) that “the problem of storytelling is how to make transitions into transformations.”

I think that begins to get at what he was trying to do. It sounds a bit abstract, but it’s a way of asking what separates the rote from the revelatory in fiction? Transitions–from sentence to sentence; from paragraph to paragraph; from section to section–are the connective tissue of telling a story. A storyteller, speaking to an audience, can raise and lower his or her voice, pause for emphasis, raise an eyebrow, stamp a foot–in other words, cheat.

Leonard Michaels

There are endless ways of cheating on the page, often profitably, to create pace or alter mood, or, less ideally, of padding out a story with pretty writing for its own sake. There are certain dependable tropes upon which all writers rely, sometimes overly, and which wear unevenly from overuse. Ford Madox Ford liked to begin his paragraphs with “Of course . . .”; “But”; “And then . . . ” All of which are means of massaging the reader’s movement through the unfolding story, but they’re somewhat conventional, conspicuous means. I suspect that it was Michaels’s preference to attempt to avoid such conventions as much as possible. Not out of a desire for novelty so much as a wish that a story could surprise in all its elements. As a good tailor tries to hide his seams, he attempted to hide those transitional conventions.

Michaels did not, as a writer, particularly in his last decade, have the kind of vanity that needed to have his prose stroked for its fineness, and thus he avoided conspicuous effects–obvious alliteration, enormous sentences–in favor of potent images and syntactical economy. All fine prose writers are putting on a show, of course, but Michaels, as he developed, wasn’t interested in using smoke machines or lasers. His stage is austere, and the emphasis is on intelligibility over theatricality. The yield of that austerity is enormous.

What should we read first?

Readers new to Michaels, or those who knew his early work in the 1960’s and 70’s, should start with the seven stories about mathematician Raphael Nachman, completed at the end of his life, and thus found at the back of the new omnibus volume The Collected Stories. What makes these stories in large part unique is the intelligence of the central character. We are usually denied the pleasure of genuinely intelligent characters in fiction–that is to say, emotionally, morally, and rhetorically sophisticated characters. Nachman is all three, and a great deal more. He is the equal of the considerable intelligence of the author.

Who, like Michaels, deserves more attention than he or she is getting?

Guy Davenport. He was the finest American critic of the postwar era. I say this in sight of the work of Trilling, Howe, Kazin, and Wilson. Davenport is unequaled in the depth of what he draws upon across the arts, not to say the lightness of touch with which he deploys that knowledge, always to the end of revealing what a particular piece of literature does–how, and how well. He’s out of fashion, in part because he had no philosophical motives, no political aims, only aesthetic interests–very rigorous ones. He cared about how art works, and how artists, through their work, talk to each other through time. I’d start with his The Geography of the Imagination, forty essays about literature and art. Then there’s Davenport’s fiction, also too little known, and his poetry, which is very fine, particularly his long poem, Flowers and Leaves.

And I would urge everyone to read as much of the poet Frederick Seidel as they can.Editor’s note: Harper’s will publish four poems by Seidel in August 2007. The poems of Ooga-Booga, his most recent book, are doing the imaginative work that a great many contemporary novels don’t begin to approach.

michaels1996umbriaitaly_450
Leonard Michaels, Umbria, Italy, 1996

Share
Single Page

More from Paul Ford:

From the May 2010 issue

Just like heaven

Weekly Review March 23, 2010, 12:00 am

Weekly Review

Weekly Review November 24, 2009, 12:00 am

Weekly Review

Get access to 169 years of
Harper’s for only $23.99

United States Canada

CATEGORIES

THE CURRENT ISSUE

June 2019

Downstream

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Stonewall at Fifty

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

The Maid’s Story

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Is Poverty Necessary?

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

view Table Content

FEATURED ON HARPERS.ORG

Article
Is Poverty Necessary?·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

In 1989 I published a book about a plutonium-producing nuclear complex in En­gland, on the coast of the Irish Sea. The plant is called Sellafield now. In 1957, when it was the site of the most serious nuclear accident then known to have occurred, the plant was called Windscale. While working on the book, I learned from reports in the British press that in the course of normal functioning it released significant quantities of waste—plutonium and other transuranic elements—into the environment and the adjacent sea. There were reports of high cancer rates. The plant had always been wholly owned by the British government. I believe at some point the government bought it from itself. Privatization was very well thought of at the time, and no buyer could be found for this vast monument to dinosaur modernism.

Back then, I shared the American assumption that such things were dealt with responsibly, or at least rationally, at least in the West outside the United States. Windscale/Sellafield is by no means the anomaly I thought it was then. But the fact that a government entrusted with the well-being of a crowded island would visit this endless, silent disaster on its own people was striking to me, and I spent almost a decade trying to understand it. I learned immediately that the motives were economic. What of all this noxious efflux they did not spill they sold into a global market.

Article
More Than a Data Dump·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Last fall, a court filing in the Eastern District of Virginia inadvertently suggested that the Justice Department had indicted WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. The Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and other outlets reported soon after that Assange had likely been secretly indicted for conspiring with his sources to publish classified government material and hacked documents belonging to the Democratic National Committee, among other things.

Article
Stonewall at Fifty·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Early in the morning on June 28, 1969, New York police raided the Stonewall Inn at 53 Christopher Street, the city’s most popular gay bar. The police had raided Stonewall frequently since its opening two years before, but the local precinct usually tipped off the management and arrived in the early evening. This time they came unannounced, during peak hours. They swept through the bar, checking I.D.s and arresting anyone wearing attire that was not “appropriate to one’s gender,” carrying out the law of the time. Eyewitness accounts differ on what turned the unruly scene explosive. Whatever the inciting event, patrons and a growing crowd on the street began throwing coins, bottles, and bricks at the police, who were forced to retreat into the bar and call in the riot squad.

Article
Downstream·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

The squat warehouse at Miami’s 5th Street Terminal was nearly obscured by merchandise: used car engines; tangles of coat hangers; bicycles bound together with cellophane; stacks of wheelbarrows; cases of Powerade and bottled water; a bag of sprouting onions atop a secondhand Whirlpool refrigerator; and, above all, mattresses—shrink-wrapped and bare, spotless and streaked with dust, heaped in every corner of the lot—twins, queens, kings. All this and more was bound for Port-de-Paix, a remote city in northwestern Haiti.

When I first arrived at the warehouse on a sunny morning last May, a dozen pickup trucks and U-Hauls were waiting outside, piled high with used furniture. Nearby, rows of vehicles awaiting export were crammed together along a dirt strip separating the street from the shipyard, where a stately blue cargo vessel was being loaded with goods.

Article
Warm, Weird, Effervescent·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

In Lore Segal’s short story “The Reverse Bug,” a teacher named Ilka Weisz invites her conversational En­glish class to a panel at a Connecticut think tank: “?‘Should there be a statute of limitations on genocide?’ with a wine and cheese reception.” The class is made up of immigrants to the United States. Although Segal doesn’t give a date, we are to understand that most came several decades earlier as a result of World War II: Gerti Gruner, who recently arrived in the United States from Vienna, by way of Montevideo, and can’t stop talking about her lost cousins; the moody Paulino from La Paz, whose father disappeared in the American Consulate; and the mysterious Japanese Matsue, who tells them that he worked in a Munich firm “employed in soundproofing the Dachau ovens so that what went on inside could not be heard on the outside.” He’s since been working at the think tank on a “reverse bug,” a technological device that brings sound from the outside in. The class takes advantage of his poor En­glish to ignore what he is saying.

Cost of renting a giant panda from the Chinese government, per day:

$1,500

A recent earthquake in Chile was found to have shifted the city of Concepción ten feet to the west, shortened Earth’s days by 1.26 microseconds, and shifted the planet’s axis by nearly three inches.

Gene Simmons of the band Kiss addressed Department of Defense personnel in the Pentagon Briefing Room.

Subscribe to the Weekly Review newsletter. Don’t worry, we won’t sell your email address!

HARPER’S FINEST

Happiness Is a Worn Gun

By

“Nowadays, most states let just about anybody who wants a concealed-handgun permit have one; in seventeen states, you don’t even have to be a resident. Nobody knows exactly how many Americans carry guns, because not all states release their numbers, and even if they did, not all permit holders carry all the time. But it’s safe to assume that as many as 6 million Americans are walking around with firearms under their clothes.”

Subscribe Today