MattyG's Blog

Tin House can really be defined by the opening lines in the Editor’s Note on page 4 of the Fall 2003 issue. Writing about Tin House’s Summer Workshop, the editor opens the column with a new maxim uttered by Denis Johnson that goes a long way in defining what type of magazine Tin House really is. He commands, “Write naked. Write in exile. Write in blood.” He reflects not only the diverse dimensions that physical writing can take, but also makes a statement about the diverse styles and subjects contained in each magazine. The bluntness of the statement further exemplifies the style of many of the pieces which often depict events in personal and emotional tone. Tin House, however, publishes pieces that also follow more along the design of post-modern pieces by employing irregular syntax or unorthodox subject matter. These elements serve to enhance all the pieces and make them striking in their own way. The short stories, for instance, appear to take the form of a true narration and by the end I find myself feeling as though the truth of the account matters greatly.
One piece where that I found this question very prevalent is entitled The Photograph which begins with the narrator reminiscing on his newly deceased uncle and winds up as an in-depth look into the dynamic of his family. The aspect of the story which is the most striking is the fact that the narrator’s uncle, whenever a formal occasion demanded it, would wear a dress. This detail, encompassed by the photograph mentioned in the title, appears to matter greatly by giving the uncle some sort of distinction and a reason for the narrator’s recollection. The explanation comes, to my surprise and small delight, very near the exposition of the story as Jake, the deceased uncle, states, “I like them…it puts everyone else at ease; makes them less defensive…everyone’s worst social fear is humiliation. They realize that any humiliation that befalls them will pale in comparison, and they are put at ease.” The narrator then goes on to recall the way his uncle acted as a magnet for beautiful women; seeming to lend less credence to his self-stated explanation. As the other people in the narrator’s life begin to develop and he tells of his reverence for his uncle, the social oddity becomes less and less relevant, yet it still persists as sort of a nagging tug in the back of my mind. Looking back on the story, I find myself more apt to get past this when looking at the story in its true context: a candid reverence displayed by a young man who exists in a filthy rich family in which the uncle appears to be the only person truly in-touch with the real world.
The only piece of the magazine which I found distaste for was the off-putting short story by Steven Millhauser with the slightly oxymoronic title, Dangerous Laughter. As the story progressed and evolved, so too did my dislike for it. First off, the story begins with a clichéd description of a boring summer in the narrator’s youth and progresses into a description of the “laugh parties” he and his friends started to relieve the monotony of that boring summer. While the descriptions reveal a lively and unique pastime, they also reveal a violent and erotic side that perhaps should not be found in such young kids. Further, the author fails to develop any characters and relies entirely on description, thus leaving me feeling very disconnecting from the world he is developing. Finally, as the narrator begins to describe the sad and solitary girl who will be the focus of the rest of the narration, the story develops a tone of foreboding and anxiety on both the part of the reader and narrator. It springs to mind some feelings associated with the movies Donnie Darko and Requiem for a Dream, leaving me with this strange sort of unclean and chilled feeling. The story comes to its logical culmination that has a really unnecessary and even uncaring feel to it, as though the narrator was numb to the events and I should be too.
Overall, I love the diversity, intimacy and cleverness of the pieces featured in the magazine; each one being able to engage me in some way or another. I really like the manner in which they mix post-modern short fiction with poetry while still being able to add in interviews and excerpts from novels. I am really taken with the candid nature of the magazine’s fiction and the way it can strike you at your emotional core. The somewhat crass nature of the language and issues developed in the fiction truly comes at you and forces you to deal with the story at the raw emotional level. I find myself, after just about every story, forced to think about the events and reflect back on them for a longer time than it took to actually read the words, sometimes even coming away with a new reflection on my own life.

This is really a distubing question to thinking about: WHO decides the truth for ME? as it seems to imply that I cannot decide the truth for myself. As hard as this is to accept, there is certainly quite a bit of validity in any answer to the contrary because when I think about it, there are quite a few things that not only are decided for me, but MUST be decided for me. For instance, because of scientific reasearch I should probably accept the fact that the world is round, that our planet orbits the sun or that electrons move in strange orbitals around the nucleus of an atom. Now, it is more than likely I could never have deduced any one of these principles on my own and based on my somewhat limited understanding of each feel pretty comfortable accepting each as truth. Its not to say, however, that should concrete evidence be brought to the contrary of any of these truths I would simply dismiss them completely and not entertain the contradictory thoughts. I suppose this all could lead me to say that scientists, at least good scientists, help define the truth for me and shape my thoughts about things I really know little about.
Along this same line I could probably say that philosophers and political thinkers help decide the truth for me. Without people like John Locke I might very well not believe in Man's natural rights or the democratic political process. This aspect of what I believe to be true rests heavily on American society because I can readily accept Locke's and Montesquieu's theories on government and individual rights while at the same time dismissing those of thinkers like Marx or Hobbes. I would say that the manner in which my innate personality characteristics mixes with the society and institutions I am immersed in create the core of all the tings I consider true. The institutions I have grown up with act as a conduit for the world to reach me and in doing so shape the way I perceive the world and what I consider the truth. I cannot deny the tremendous influence that obviously my parents and family had, nor can I deny the way that my education in public school helped shape and instill the values I brought from the house. I am, and I think we all are, forced to look at the world only in a manner consistent with the values instilled in us and will act hostile to anything that goes against the imbedded beliefs. While our families not only create the truth, but also shape it, there are many other aspects of society that decide and give me the truth. While I take everything with a certain amount of skepticism I would belieing if I did not mention how heavily I must rely on the media for the truth. This rests on the fact that I really can't be everywhere at once so I have to rely on others to bring me the facts in such a way that I can accept them as truth. Newspapers, magazines and television not only convey facts which I believe to be true, but also opinions that shape the way I percieve the truth. I think this aspect causes the most problems because it really creates multiple versions of the truth stemming from one event or topic. Truth really becomes a form of conflict by dividing people on completely irreconcialable sides. I find it really strange that something that is supposed to be straightforward acts in such a manner, but the way that values and traditions become imbued into people's character and the way they view the world makes all the difference on just what really is true.

This is really a distubing question to thinking about: WHO decides the truth for ME? as it seems to imply that I cannot decide the truth for myself. As hard as this is to accept, there is certainly quite a bit of validity in any answer to the contrary because when I think about it, there are quite a few things that not only are decided for me, but MUST be decided for me. For instance, because of scientific reasearch I should probably accept the fact that the world is round, that our planet orbits the sun or that electrons move in strange orbitals around the nucleus of an atom. Now, it is more than likely I could never have deduced any one of these principles on my own and based on my somewhat limited understanding of each feel pretty comfortable accepting each as truth. Its not to say, however, that should concrete evidence be brought to the contrary of any of these truths I would simply dismiss them completely and not entertain the contradictory thoughts. I suppose this all could lead me to say that scientists, at least good scientists, help define the truth for me and shape my thoughts about things I really know little about.
Along this same line I could probably say that philosophers and political thinkers help decide the truth for me. Without people like John Locke I might very well not believe in Man's natural rights or the democratic political process. This aspect of what I believe to be true rests heavily on American society because I can readily accept Locke's and Montesquieu's theories on government and individual rights while at the same time dismissing those of thinkers like Marx or Hobbes. I would say that the manner in which my innate personality characteristics mixes with the society and institutions I am immersed in create the core of all the tings I consider true. The institutions I have grown up with act as a conduit for the world to reach me and in doing so shape the way I perceive the world and what I consider the truth. I cannot deny the tremendous influence that obviously my parents and family had, nor can I deny the way that my education in public school helped shape and instill the values I brought from the house. I am, and I think we all are, forced to look at the world only in a manner consistent with the values instilled in us and will act hostile to anything that goes against the imbedded beliefs. While our families not only create the truth, but also shape it, there are many other aspects of society that decide and give me the truth. While I take everything with a certain amount of skepticism I would belieing if I did not mention how heavily I must rely on the media for the truth. This rests on the fact that I really can't be everywhere at once so I have to rely on others to bring me the facts in such a way that I can accept them as truth. Newspapers, magazines and television not only convey facts which I believe to be true, but also opinions that shape the way I percieve the truth. I think this aspect causes the most problems because it really creates multiple versions of the truth stemming from one event or topic. Truth really becomes a form of conflict by dividing people on completely irreconcialable sides. I find it really strange that something that is supposed to be straightforward acts in such a manner, but the way that values and traditions become imbued into people's character and the way they view the world makes all the difference on just what really is true.

It's sad to say but mostly I write at my computer within the constraints of an assignment. It used to be such a different story though, but the distractions and happenings of dorm life are too much to contend with and the rigors of ILR combined with nights at the Finish Line leave far too little free time to give writing enough thought. And so I am far too often left to ponder writing in my hard, uncomfortable and somewhat annoying computer chair. I find myself in this position, more often than not, at nighttime looking out the window in front of me or around my all too familiar room. This allows my writing to go in one of two totally polar directions: one toward the complete abstract openness of the nightsky and the other toward the painful familiarity of 1563 Jameson Hall. My writing evokes much more of the former, a quality that I would perhaps like greatly to change. Strangely enough this is no staggering change from my writing at home where I would usually find myself sitting at my desk during the late hours of the night, frantically trying to make my hand produce the right words. Even there I would often separate myself from the well-known possessions and worn-out happenings of my room and choose instead to make myself acquainted with the mysterious night. These settings can really come to define my writing by offering me inspirations, images and even feelings from which to draw words, phrases and sentences.

for any of you baseball fans out there, this is a poem i wrote about Alex Rodriguez's recent signing adapted from John Keats' Ode On a Grecian Urn:

Ode on a greedy Yankee

Thou still greedy prince of New York,
Thou foster-child of money and insatiable time,
Treacherous historian, why canst thou express
Thy desire in any color but bloody green?
What long-dead legends haunt about thy shape
Of Mantles or Gehrigs, or of both,
In the hallowed House that Ruth built?
What men were these? Or better Gods in pinstripes?
Why the mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
Be it the cash, the rings, the big-town eyes?

Heard melodies are hollow, but those unheard
Are weeping; therefore, ye gentle tears, fall on;
Not to the Armani suit, but, far more endeared,
Fall to the beer-stained t-shirt of no note:
Fair youth, beneath the skyscrapers, thou canst not leave
Thy soul, nor ever could those scrapers tower over you;
False prophet, never, never cast out thy arm,
The spirit of victory or humility yet, do not grieve;
Your Crest-white smile cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou be in love, and look she green!

Ah fast, fast cars! That cannot shed
Their gilded tint, nor ever bid your Ego adieu;
And, happy vanity, diminished
Never by the Jeters or camera flash;
More money love! More lovely, lovely money!
For ever flowing and resting in pockets bulging,
For ever tainted, and for ever ruined;
All breathing baseball passion from the dark,
That leaves empty pockets and eyes murderous,
A burning dream, and a smug grin.

Who are these coming to your sacrifice?
To your green alter, O fans misguided,
Led into the shadow of an empire evil,
And all her wicked priests in pin-striped dressed.
What storied team by river and sea shore,
Built on mountain’s impenetrable fortress,
Is emptied of all grace, this dark morn?
And, vacant lot, thy victories for evermore
Will stolen be; and not a soul untouched
By thy cruel design and broken hearts.

O villainous shape! Foul air! the stench
Of your gluttony wafts betwixt buildings,
With damp air and the squirrel’s chatter;
Thou, haughty form, dost tease us mortals
As doth eternity: Cold Heart!
When old age doth rend thy form
Thou shalt remain a testament of woe,
To the generation of fans, to whom thou say’st,
“Money is truth, truth money,--that is all
it takes to win- new pride of the Yankees.”

whoops, didn't realize that somehow it already got published even though my computer crashed at exactly that time last friday, right in the middle of publishing...ahh the enigma that is the computer

whoops, didn't realize that somehow it already got published even though my computer crashed at exactly that time last friday, right in the middle of publishing...ahh the mystery that is the computer

whoops, didn't realize that somehow it already got published even though my computer crashed at exactly that time last friday, write in the middle of publishing...ahh the mystery that is the computer

Every time the question comes up I always let out a soft sigh and proceed with the same explanation time and time again. My major, Industrial and Labor Relations, needs explanation to not only the question of "what is it?" but also to the equally important question of "Why the hell are you doing that?" The latter question often goes unasked, but I always feel obliged to answer it, given the nature of my major. And so I make sure to speak clearly and emphasize "Ind-ust-rial and La-bor Re-la-tions," then launch myself into an explanation of "Well I really like Cornell and unfortunately my parents do not want to pay $40,000 a year for tuition, so it was narrowed down to the state schools and I want to go to law school so ILR was the best choice. It is really good for pre-law and business stuff and also gives you really good connections, so I guess I can bear the tediousness of the courses for the next 3 years." So, while I am not truly fond of my major and am without any real interest in any of the school's courses, i cannot be ignorant to deny the influence, or at least connection, of ILR and my writing. This mainly stems from the fact that very much of both my writing(or at least writing process) and personality is analytical in nature, and just as the work I do in ILR , they rely on discovering associations and connections. Whether studying economics or labor history, there are always certain causes and effects I need to take into account and certain conclusions I need to reach. I try and do the same with my writing, whether by connecting ideas, phrases, single words, sounds or images, I am always pushing towards come ultimate conclusion or trying to emphasize specific relationships. This aspect of my writing does not stem directly from being in ILR, however; the work I do in the school goes a long way towards reinforcing this dimension. Perhaps the problem is that when I sit down to write, I really do not want to have organizational behavior or economics on my mind and would just as soon forget the hours I have spent hearing lectures and reading books. I suppose that it is possible to impose themes from my classes into written work, as for instance I could write a nice, long epic poem about the struggles of organized labor in the 1890's or even create a beautifully crafted narrative of the tragic results of organizational culture gone all wrong and its effects on the poor middle manager. Some day maybe I could sit and write "The poetry of Industrial Relations," but somehow that seems a wee bit doubtful.

Whenever anyone outside of Cornell asks what my major is, I make sure to say it as slowly as possible, clearly enunciating every word. Even before the words "Ind-ust-rial and la-bor re-la-tions" come out of my mouth, I prepare myself to answer the subsequent inevitable question of "what's that?" And so I relate the simplest answer possible, giving them: "It's kind of a mix between business, labor and pre-law stuff which in fact truly is as boring as it sounds, but it is a state school so it was really a necessity." So they nod, try and sound interested, eventually changing the subject to my future plans or something more interesting. Not to be overly pessimistic or anything, but I cannot really find any relation between the school and my writing. Are there topics I could take from my classes and incorporate in my writing? Sure there are. For instance, I could write a wonderfully long epic poem romanticizing the tumltuous struggle of organized labor or I could illustrate workplace issues in a lovely and inspiring short story about a company struggling with organizational design. The fact is that not too much of what I learn truly interests me. That being said, I think it is probably quite ignorant of me to completely the deny the influence of something which I am immersed in for a good 6 hours a day. Very much of both my writing(or at least writing process) and personality is analytical in nature and just as the work I do in ILR, they rely on discovering associations and connections. Whether studying economics or labor history there are always certain causes and effects I need to take into account and certain conclusions I need to reach. I try and do the same with my writing, whether by connecting ideas, phrases, single words, sounds or images, I am always pushing towards some ultimate conclusion or trying to emphasize specific relations. This aspect of my writing does not stem directly from being in ILR, however, the work I do in the school goes a long way towards reinforcing this dimension.