by Rebecca Hyde Rowan Public Library
Jonathan Franzen
sounded the alarm in 1996 in a Harper’s magazine article “Perchance to Dream,” sharing
his anger and despair over the future of the American novel. In 2002, he included a revised version in the
collection “How to be Alone,” and called it “Why Bother: the Harper’s
Essay.” Franzen finds fault with the banal
ascendancy of television, America’s value-free culture, and the breakdown of
communitarianism, where interaction is optional. Technology has changed both the demand for
fiction and the social context in which fiction is written. As a writer of social novels, Franzen is
discouraged. So how did Franzen emerge
from this depression and get back on track as a writer? Ironically it was through science, and
specifically with the help of the contemporary social scientist Shirley Brice
Heath, a Stanford professor who was studying the audience for serious fiction
in America.
In working through
his “time of trouble,” Franzen and Heath take an interesting look at writers
and readers: the importance of reading
to writers and how individuals develop as readers. It seems there is a relationship between how
we learn to read, how we are able to immerse ourselves in or enjoy novels, and
the solitary acts of writing and reading.
Heath’s research
demolished the myth of the general audience.
As she told Franzen, for a person to sustain an interest in literature,
two things must be in place. First, the
habit of reading “works of substance” must have been “heavily modeled” when the
individual was very young. And second,
to become a lifelong dedicated reader, a child needs to find a person with whom
they can share their interest. And there
is yet a second kind of reader, the “social-isolate,” whose parents were not
really readers ( Franzen’s case). This
is a reader who is not anti-social but feels very different from everyone
around them and has a sense of having an imaginary world. At some point, he or she has a “gnawing need”
to be alone to read and reconnect with that world. According to Heath, readers of the
social-isolate variety are more likely to become writers than those of the
modeled-habit variety.
For Franzen, this
was good news, exhilarating and confirming:
“Simply to be recognized for who I was, simply not to be
misunderstood: these had revealed
themselves, suddenly, as reasons to write.”
It’s an
interesting case of redemption. Franzen
feels he belongs to the world again. In
his acceptance speech at the 2001 National Book Awards, he thanked Oprah
Winfrey for her “enthusiasm and advocacy on behalf of “The Corrections.”
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