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Michelle Snow
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LLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLL

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BAKER - http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6097/the-art-of-fiction-no-212-nicholson-baker

I have a tendency to get too fancy, to get myself tied up in torturous
sentence fragments that would never be sayable. If I think to myself,
Now I’m really going to lay it on the line and explain why people get
excited about free verse, or who Algernon Swinburne is, and if I
silently begin writing a paragraph about it, all these odd
belletristic flights start happening that may or may not be helpful.
But if I speak it, I’m surprised how everything I have to say
obediently gets in line, like people waiting for a bus.

It’s a symptom of a larger change. When I was starting out as a
writer, I felt an overriding lyrical urge. I had an ideal of ornament,
not Victorian but really baroque or art nouveau ornament—printer’s
dingbats, Gaudí, the Watts Towers—that I wanted to try to get close to
in reaction to the prose style of the day, which I felt was Raymond
Carverish and flat. I thought, My sentences are going to be long and
striped and snakey, and they’re going to be full of complex
subordinations, because that’s the writing that really gets me
excited, De Quincey and Jeremy Taylor and Sir Thomas Browne and all
the rest of them. But now I think, Well, I did that. There are other
ways to go.

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GUY HELSON!

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And what a last time it was.

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Amazing read. "Rise now, hiromitsu, man of men, and accept your fate, this day in mid-March, a hint of sulfur in the salt air."
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