The Literature of Exhaustion YES, WELL. "Every man isnot anty himself," says Sir Thomas Browne: “Men are ives cover again." At one peint during my Tenure at Penn Site, a follow with the ‘samenameas mine in thal ti-universty small own was arestec cn charges of ‘molesting @ young woman. Hs interesting delense was that he was a Slanis- lavsky Method actor rehearsing fr the rle ol rari im an upcoming student the- ater fiece, For some while after, his fans occasionally rang me up by mistake he of thom, when eneugh conversation had revealed his enor, s2id "Sorry ‘You're the wrong Joter Gath." ‘Nol for that reason, in 1965 | moved nny family from Pine Grove Mills —an loghey mauntain vilaga net ‘ar tem Sala Conga, Pennssyivania—up nt over he Apdelachians 10 Bualo, whee for Ihe next seven years I taught in the new and prosperous State Unversity of New York's operaton at the old Uriver iy of Bufo. In Se! was appointed to thal unvarsily’s Edward S. Buller Pro Tessorship, endowed by and named fora fate local phianthropist, Thus i came lobe declared, onthe jackets of soma ediions othe books I nubished in thase years, thet their author “is euenly Edward 8. Buller rolossor of Literature al ite Siete Universty of New York al Buifalo.” And sure enough (© world oul there, what imecente you harbor), mail hagan coming in achiressed to. “Ed- ward 8. Bute, Professor of Literal" and author—under that nom de plume 4 jour, | presume the authors oF those letters to nave presumed—ot Gus Goat Boy, Los in the Furheuse, and Chimera ‘Those years—1965-1972--were the American High Sixties. The Vie ram War was in overdie through mast of the period, the U.S, economy was al ‘and bioady, academic imperialism was as popular as the poitical kid. Among ‘Governor Nelzon Rocke‘sers embiions waa to eslabich major univorsiy cen lersal each end anc the middle of he Thomas E. Uewey Thruway (Stony Brook, Albany, Bullab) az xara fr the Empire State's 7-campus universty system 'SUNY/Butfalo therefore was given vetual carte blanche to pirala profaccore ‘away trom olher unwversites and build buildings for tem 10 wach In: AL oe izzy point ints planning, Gordon Bunshal's proposed new campus complex THE FRIDAY BOOK 63 for the schoo! was reported to be the largest single architeclural project in the: ‘world, aller Brasilia. Eighty perceni cl the populous English department | joined had been hited within the preceding 'wo years, as actions fo he original sia: so numerous were our istrious immigranis from raided faculties, Woubled mariiages, and more staillaced likesiyles, we came to call ourselves proudy the Elis sand cl Academia. The somewhat shabby older bullings and hasty built new ones, all jam-packed and about to be abandoned, reinforced that image. The politically active arrong cur tacully and students had their own anti lions for the piace he Berkeley ol tho East. They waned no part of Mr. Bun shaf's suburban New Jeruselem rising from ilec-in marshland nor) of the city ("All great cultures,” my new oclleague Leslie Fiedler 1emarked, “are oultt en marshes!) I some humors, as whon our government lod with more then usual egregiousness about 4s war, they wanled lille enough of the old campus, aitner. They stuck and trashed: then the polize and National Guard struck and trashed thom. Mace and pepparaas watted through the acadenit: groves: the red flag of communism and the black fag of anarchism were Uieraly waved al Eralish Deparimant ‘aculy-stucent meetings, which—s sight as aslonishing to me aa those flags—were allarded by hundreds, like an Allen GinsbeIg (Oey ‘eacing with harmonium and Tibetan linger-cyritas Allogeltir a stimulaiing piace to work through thew toubled years: Pog ‘Act popping atthe Aloright4nox Musaum: strange new music from Lukas FOSS, LLojaren Hier, and inetr @ectronic coleagues; dope as utscquilous as martinis at faculty dinner parties; polusas Lake Eris ushing over Niagara Falk ("the toilet ‘bom! of America,"* our Ontario fetes callad 1); and, acres the Peace Bridge, endless Canada, to which hosts of our young men lled as their countaroarts had done in other of our national eorwuisions, and from which Pralessce MeLuhan expounded the limttaiicns, indeed the obsolescence, of the printes word in Our electronic cule, The tong novel Glee Goat Boy dono, | tock esbbatical leave from nove wing and, nspred by those Ively new surroundings and ty the remarkable short fiction of the Arcenline Joie Luis Borges, which I'd recently come to know, ! spent two yaars happily fiddling wih shor! narrative: never my fang suit Inthe salad of a wiler's motives, Inling Ingredients are tossed with more Seri ‘cus. Among my ambilions in witing The SolWlaed Factor was to parpeirate 2 rove! so thick tha ils tile could be printed hovizontely ecross its spine, among ‘my reasons for wring Lost in he Funnause—a series o| shor fishin for prin, tape, and live voice-—was thal novelists aren’! easily included in antheiogies of fiction, ‘Bul | was interested also in exploring he oral narrative taditon ‘wom which Brnted fiction evolved. Poetry raacings became popula’ in Ihe Sixliog, but ex: ‘cept in the areas of folktales and oral history there was nol much interest in “ive” narrative, in fiction as a perterming art. For saveral weeks one summer, the university's English Department leased the Music Deparimant’s slectrnias Studio, complete with its audio engincors, (or he use Ct any students OF slall ie terested in experimenting wth electronic means i verse or fielion. | took the op64 JOHN BARTH portunty to record (or uss in my once-a-month lecture vsis) the taped portions. fof several ‘ape-anclive-voice pieces Irom Lost in the Funhouse. In that time and place, experimental wae not yel an edloctive of dicmissal (On the contrary: As in the Euiopean Nineteen Teens, artistic experiment was in the Butfalo air. Even our less sophisticated undergraduates, many trom the New York City area, seemed to breathe it in wih the other hydrocarbons, the per fumes of Lake Ere and the Lave Canal. Unawere in many cases of the Nisiory of, fay, edible or sell-dest-ueting art, they had nevertheless a kind of media sireetsinants, i their experiments (which, sure enough, included edible and sell-destructing narratives) most olen failed, they failed no more often than on-"experimenlal” apprantioe work. For aopreniices, allwork is experimental, as In another sense It Is even for seasoned piotessionals. In my ovm literary temperament, tha mix of romantic and neoclassical is so mulable that | hold 10 parioular brief either for or againet programmatic experimartalism, Passion and vitvosity are what matter; where they are, they will shine through any esthetics. Aut | coniess to missing, in apprentice seminars in the lator 1970s and the 1980s, thal ively Maket-Navr spirit of tho Buflalo Shitiss. A roomful of young traditonalists can be as depressing as a roomlul of young Repubt- cane. In 1967 | set down my mixed feelings about the avant gardiem o! the in the folowing essay, first delivered as a Peters Husnton Seminars Lecture at the Universi of Virginia ard subsequently pubkshed in the Atlantic Ihhas baer ‘equently reprinled and as krequently misread as one mare Death of th Novel ‘or Swan-Song of Litealure piece. Itisnt, Rereading ft now, | suff aces of tear {985 in its margins; | hear an echo of disruption balween is ines. ts urgencles are cated; thore are nia notes init of quackery ard wiseciackery that displease me row. Eut the main lire of ils argument | slang by: tat viruosiy 8 & vine, ‘and thal what artists eel about the etate ofthe world and tho state oftheir art © {ess imporant than vital they co with that feeling. T want to discuss three things more or less together, rst, some old questions raised by the new “intermedia” arts, second, some aspects of the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, whese fiction I greatly admire, third, some professional concerns of my own, related to these other mat- ters and having to do with what I'm calling “the literature of exhausted possibility”—or, more chicly, “the literature of exhaustio By “exhaustion” I doa’t mean anything so tired as the sabject of physical, moral, or intellectual decadence, only the uscd-upness of certain forms or the felt exhaustion of certain possibilities—by no means neces- sarily a cause for despair. That a great many Western artists for a great ‘many years have quarreled with received definitions of artistic media, genres, and forms goes without saying: Pop Art, dramatic and musical “happenings,” the whole range of “intermedia” or “mixed-means” art THE FRIDAY BOOK 65 bear recentest witness to the romantic tradition of rebelling against Tra- dition. ‘A catalogue 1 received some time ago in the mail, for example, ad- vertises such items as Robert Fillion’s Ample Food for Stupid Thought, a box full of postcards on which are inscribed “apparently meaningless questions,” to be mailed to whomever the purchaser judges them suited for, also Ray Johnson’s Paper Snake, a collection of whimsical writings, “oflea pointed,” the catalogue assures us, and once mailed to various friends (what the catalogue describes as The New York Correspondence ‘School of Literature); likewise Daniel Spoerti’s Anecdoted Typography of Chance, “on the surface” « description of all the objects that happen to be ‘on the author's parlor table—“in fact, however... a cosmology of Spoecti's existence. ‘The document listing these items ison the surface,” at least the catalogue of The Something Else Press, « swinging outfit. “In fact, how- xy be one of their offerings, for all I know: The New York Di |-Advertising School of Literature. In any case, their wares are lively to read about, and make for interesting conversation in fition- ‘writing classes, for example, where we discuss Somsbody-or-other's un- bound, unpaginated, randomly assembled novel-in-a-box and the desir ability of printing Fnnegans Wake on a very long roller-towel. It is easier and more sociable to talk technique than itis to make art, and the area of “happenings” and meir kin 1s mainly a way of discussing aesthetics, really; of illustrating more or less valid and interesting points about the natute of art and the definition of its terms and genres. One conspicuous thing, for exemple, about the “intermedia” arts is their tendency to eliminate not only the traditional eudience-those who apprehend the artist’s art (in “happenings” the audience is often the cast,” as in “environments,” and some of the new music isnt intended 10 bbe performed at all) —but also the most traditional notion of the artist: the Aristotelian conscious agent who achicves with technique and cun- ring the artistic effect; in other words, one endowed with uncommon tal- ‘ent, who has moreover developed and disciplined that endowment into Yirtuosity. [¢ i an aristocratic notion on the face of it, which the demo- ceratie West seems eager to have done with; not only the “omniscient” au- thor of older fiction, bur the very idea of the controlling aris, has been condemned as politically reactionary, authoritarian, even fascist. Personally, being of the temper that chooses to rebel along traditional ines, I'm inclined to prefer the kind of act that not many people can do:JOHN BARTH srtisicy as well as bright gesthetie 66 the hind that requires expertise and ideas and/or inspiration. L enjoy the Pop Artin the famous Albright aor collection, a few blocks frem my house in Buffalo, like a lively Conversation; but wasn the whole more impressed by the jugglers and serobats at Baltimore's old Hippodrome, where 1 used to go every time they changed shows: aot artis, peshaps, but genuine vitwos do!ne things that anyone can dream up and discuss but ehmost no one cas do, T suppose the distinction is between things worth remarking and things worth doing, “Somebody ought to make + ncvel wilh scenes ‘hat pop up, ike the ld children’s books," one says, withthe implication that one isn't going to bother doing it onesel However, art and its forms and techniques live in history and cer~ tainly do change I sympathize with a remark attributed t Saul Bellow, that lo be technically up-to-date is the least important attribute of 8 (yriter though 1 would add that this least important attribute may be wevertheless essential. In any case, to De technically out of date is likely to be a genuine defect: Declioven’s Sixth Symphony or the Chartres calhe- italy if executed today, might he simply embarrassing Gin fact they vveulat be executed today, unless in the Borgesian spirit discussed below). A good many curreat novelists write Curn-of-the-centary ype povele, only im more of less mid-twentieth-century Tanguage and abou ventempornry poople and topics; thie males them less interesting (60 Me) aaah qrcellent writers who are also technically contemporary: Joyse and Kafke for instance, in their time, and in ours, Samuel Beckett and Jorge Tus Borges. The intermedia arts, Td say, tend to be intermediary, foo, terween the taditional realms of aesthetics on the one band and artistic creation on the other. [think the wise artist and civilian wil repard them rth quite the kind and degree of seriousness with which he regards good Thoptall He'l listcn carefully, if noncommitally, and keep an eye on is intermedia colleagues, if only the corner of his eye, Whether or not they themelves produce memorable and Tasting works of contemporary af, they may very possibly suggest something usable in the making oF Un derstanding of such works. Jorge Luis Borges will serve (o illustrate the eifference between & technically old-fashioned artist a technically upc-date non-arat and = technically up-to-date alist, Inthe first category Te locate all those nov” vrite not as ithe twentieth century didn't lists who for better or worse w cat, but as if the great writers of the lat sixty years or so hadn't existed. THE FRIDAY BOOK er Our century is more than (wo-third ry is more than Is done; it is diam: : : waying to see so many out writers folowing Dsioevaty of Tal.y a Balzac, vhs the oe ten seems to me to be ow fo sauesed wot even Joyce and Kefk, ose who succeeded Joyce and Kafka and are now in the eve- ings of thet own carers* Inthe second category technically up ate non-artit—are euch folk ar « neighbor of ine in Buffalo who fasion dead Winats-the-Fooh in sometimes monumental sele out of oilelth sued with sand sd impales them on sakes ox hangs them by 7 Inthe third category belong the few people whose artistic think- ing is as a couran a8 any French New Novels’ hut who mange semethles to speak clegucnly nd aeemorably 10 cur human bears ane conditions, athe great aris have always dome. OF thes, to ofthe fet ving specinncos that Ek of are Samuel Beckett and Jorge Luis lorges—with Vladimir Nabokov, just about the only contempora of my reading acquaintance mentionable with the “old masters” twentieth-century fiction, stir is 4 nur fein, In he anecng history of trary avarda the 1961 Intemational Publishers’ Pri ! ts’ Prize, shared by is a happy exception indeed. viet One of the modem thin ig about these two writers is that in an age maces and “Anal solutons”—at lest fl uimacies, every se m weapanry to theology, the eel ese td he sly oie nett Sea eeeaieeaeces with ultimacy, both technical ically. as for exampl c a ly and thematically. a le ein Woden ie rent mae, esl, On wre itssymptomatie wort, that Jyse was virtually blind at the end, Borge i eal ve and Becket es bstome vitally mute, mosemis, having Brogresed rom marvelously cantrucied English sentences though icra ter French ones othe unyatatcal, unpuncuaedp nef ‘omment C'est end “ultimately” to wordless mim sepe lle teeta cure fr act Lngige ae a ona cence 45 well as sound, and mime is still communication (" sath-en epg ere ip erect son. Bat he langage fan const of estas walla vere, 4c since Beppe nn set ur a set ultimate. How ahout an empty, silent stage, then, or blank nd Borges, ~ Author's note, 1984: Die f really say this remarkably silly thing back and 1 Detieved it, rd Deere toy, What hope ae more reasonleformelatins of ihneat,”f “67 Yop. the Friday-picces “The Spirit "and" ‘Renee he Fily-pnos "The Sp of Pee ad “The Ltr of Reposeos JOHN BARTH where appens, like Cage’s 4°33" per- +a “happening” where nothing happens, ’ : Parved in an empty hel? But dramatic communication wits ofthe nt the presence of the actors; “we have aur exits and our SRE ad ocean tat std be peru n Becket's case. Nothing at ll. then. suppose but Nothinges is accestrly an inexiieably the background aginst which Being, cetera, For Beckett at this point in his caret, to cease to create allogster wouk! be fatty vcaningful: bis crowning, work: his “last vord.” What a convenient cor- aetna peu intl "And now I shal nish" the valet Arsene S695 th Faun, “and you wil hear my voice no more." Only the silence Molloy of, “of which the universe is made.” ; Peat hich, Tadd oa bebalf ofthe rest of us, it might be conceivable toredincover validly lhe artfices of language and literature—such far-out tions as grammar, punctuation ... even charucterization’ Even plot!— ifone goes about it the right way. aware of what one's predecessors have “ ' aro t L, Borges is perfectly aware ofall these things. Back inthe eat decades of literary experimentalism he was associated with Prisma, eeSTnuralist” magazine that published its pages on walls and billboards; his later Labyrinhs and Ficclones not only anticipate the farthest-ovt ideas of The Something Else Press crowd —not a dificult thing to do— thou being encellent works of art ax wll they illustrate in s simple way the diference between the fact of aesthetic ultimacics and their atistie the, What it comes (ois that an artist doesn't mevely exemplify an ulli- racy; be employs it : Consider Rorges’s story “Pierze Meserd, Author of the Quixot ‘Dae hero, an viterly sophisticated tar-of-the-century Freach Symbolist, by an astounding effort of imagination, produces—nu' cuples or imitates, ‘but composes—scveral chapters of Cervante:’s novel re Menar's revelation [Borges's naraor tls vs 4 sompa as pinote wah Cervantes The lr, or expe, wrote (pat one, caper nine): - “anu, whote mothe itor, iva time, dpe o ead nem ofthe pase exemplar and advise othe Present, the fiare's counsel 1 intent eeuryby hat ora ard of Eas rie ‘Essay on Silence, and much repeated to the AD ia ot Wtadom of ndon Jobo. ‘Aurora, BV, Elbert Hubb Dreseat day in such empty “noveltics” ms THE FRIDAY BOOK oO ‘Written in the serenteeath century, witlen by the “lay genius” Cer ‘antes, this enumeration is a mere rhetorical praise of hislory. Men= ard, on the ether hand, writes: (uth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of dceds, witness of the pasi, exemplar end adviser tn the present, the future's eounseloe. History, the mother of truth: the idea is astounding, Menard, a con- temporary of William James, does not define history as an inquiry into reality but as its origin. Ex extera, Borges's story is of course a satire, bul the idea has consid- erable intellectual validity. 1 declared earlier that if Beethoven's Sixth were composed today. it might be an embarrassment; but clearly it ‘woulda’t be, necessarily, i done with ironic intent by a composer quite aware of where we've been and where we are, It would have then paten- lialy, for better or worse, the kind of significance of Warhol's Campbell's Soup cans, the difference being that in the former case a work of art is being reproduced instead of a work of noa-att, and the ironic comment ‘would therefore be mure directly on the genre and history of the art than ‘onthe state ofthe culture. In fact, of course, to make the valid intellectual Point one needn't even recompose the Sixth Symphony, any more than ‘Menard really needed to re-create the Quicote. It would have been suffi- ‘tent for Menard to attribute the novel to himself in order to have a new ‘work of an, from the intelectual point of view. Indeed, in several stories Borges plays with this very idea, and I can readily imagine Beckeit’s next novel, fur example, as Tom Jones, just as Nabokov’s recentest was his multivolume annotated qauslation of Pushkin: 1 myself have always aspired to write Burton's version of The 002 Nights, complete with ap- pendices and the like, in ten volumes, and for intellectual purposes I needn't even write it, What evenings we might spend discussing Saarinen's Parthenon, D. H. Lawrence's Wuthering Heighis, or the John son Administration by Robert Rauschenberg! The idea, | say, is intellectually serious, as are Borges's other charac- teristic ideas, most of a metaphysical rather than an aesthetic nature. But the important thing to observe is that Borges doesn't attribute the Quixote 4 himself, much less recompose it like Pierte Menard; instead, he writes a remarkable and original work of literature, the implicit theme of which is the difficulty, perhaps the unnecessity, of writing original works of litera- ture. His artistic victory, if you like, is that he confronts an intellectual