Late Last Night Books

Chosen by a book club I belong to, due to the volumes of praise attached to the front and back cover, I anticipated a more compelling story than The Little Stranger turned out to provide. I’ll try to explain why.

The Little Stranger is described as a modern gothic novel. The author inserts story elements that cannot be explained by standard logic––the vision of a ghost and events for which there is no rational explanation and for which Waters provides no justification.

Readers may feel comfortable with unresolved gothic tropes. I don’t. The key question is whether these elements are critical in determining the story’s outcome. If they are, all the more reason that I, as a reader, feel they need to be explained either by providing a rational cause or by a theory that says in this world, ghosts exist.

Let’s face it: plenty of writers are rubbish. I’m afraid I despise, deplore, or simply detest quite a lot of them. They include:

Writers with no sense of humour;

Writers who think they mustn’t offend anyone;

Writers who believe the purpose of fiction is to edify their readers;

Smug, self-righteous, or sententious writers;

‘Woke’ writers;

Writers with an overt or covert political agenda (especially the latter);

Pretentious writers;

Writers who are toadies, lickspittles and arse-kissers;

Writers who admire (or pretend to admire) other writers because they are successful;

Writers who believe that an MFA or PhD in Creative Writing qualifies them to write;

Writers who believe that a writer’s colour, religion, sexual orientation, sex (or gender!) qualifies anyone to write;

Writers who whine about their white privilege;

Writers who don’t bother to learn the rules of English usage or spelling;

Writers who don’t think it’s important to read the canon;

Writers who think the canon needs to be decolonised;

Writers who think it’s necessarily important to read the latest literary prize winners;

Writers who are ignorant of history and philosophy;

Writers who think their drug experiences are interesting;

Writers who believe that their experiences as victims is fascinating and important;

Writers who despise other writers because they are not, or were not, morally pure;

Writers who follow the latest trends and write for the market;

Writers who think that their ‘platform’ is important;

Writers who believe that writers are essentially social engineers;

Writers who are certain that their values and views are correct;

Writers who can’t think for themselves (at the current time, the majority, sad to say);

Writers who watch more TV or movies than read books;

Writers who want the writer’s ‘lifestyle’;

Writers who think their job is always to be kind;

Writers with no imagination (a surprisingly large proportion);

Writers with no ear for language (incredibly, the majority, whether ‘literary’ or otherwise);

Writers who think literary agents know more about literature than they do;

Writers who believe that the world needs their novel;

To sum up: Writers who are not artists, but hacks or halfwits.

What major federal policy has every president from Lyndon Johnson to Barak Obama agreed on? Answer: Advancing educational opportunity as a path to societal equality. They may have differed on how to expand schooling, but not that it was a goal to be achieved in order to reduce social inequality. Why then have the results not lived up to the promise? The answer is simple according to Fredrik deBoer: schooling can never produce social equality––not because we don’t spend enough or because teachers aren’t good enough. It’s because not all people are academically talented.

Marshaling studies that expose the raw underbelly of schooling’s failures on top of insights from his personal experience as a teacher, and capping that off with a measure of behavioral genetics, deBoer concludes, “as long as our education system creates winners, it will also create losers.”

She didn’t do an MFA in Creative Writing, let alone a PhD. She didn’t even have a BA in it. Or in English. And yet Jane wrote the initial draft of Sense and Sensibility when she was 18, and had finished Pride and Prejudice by the time she was 20. Astonishing? Yes. So how did she do it? Did she follow the advice of the self-appointed writing gurus—who tell you that if you can’t do a degree in the subject, you need to attend expensive conferences, join writing groups, get professional editors? No, none of that. So how on earth did she learn her craft?

By reading and writing. I’m not an Austen scholar, but I know that in the late eighteenth century England’s public libraries had not yet been founded, so it’s fair to assume that most of her reading was done in her father’s library.