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Archive for February 13th, 2009

macroeconomic microfictions

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From a piece in the IHT about the effects of the crisis to Dubai:

With Dubai’s economy in free fall, newspapers have reported that more than 3,000 cars sit abandoned in the parking lot at the Dubai Airport, left by fleeing, debt-ridden foreigners (who could in fact be imprisoned if they failed to pay their bills). Some are said to have maxed-out credit cards inside and notes of apology taped to the windshield.

I’ve done a bit of digging around, and it looks like that number may be a wee bit high. (The total capacity of the lots at the airport is only 6,000 cars so, um, IHT wtf with the reporting?) Still, cars are being abandoned, and probably for the reasons mentioned in the article.

I’m wondering tonight why stories like this are so appealling to me. My attention is captured by events and circumstances that render macroeconomic events, trends, and circumstances visible. The cars serve as self-organizing isotypes, with the airport parking lot as a sort of living Gesellschafts- und Wirtschafts-Museum.

But there’s more to it than just that. The other thing that I love about articles like this one in the IHT has to do with the relationship between the aggregated image of the abandoned cars and the little journalistically-mandatory emblematic story about an individual caught up in the gears in her own generic but personal way. Here’s the start of the article I’ve linked to:

Sofia, a 34-year-old Frenchwoman, moved here a year ago to take a job in advertising, so confident about Dubai’s fast-growing economy that she bought an apartment for almost $300,000 with a 15-year mortgage.

Now, like many of the foreign workers who make up 90 percent of the population here, she has been laid off and faces the prospect of being forced to leave this Gulf city — or worse.

“I’m really scared of what could happen, because I bought property here,” said Sofia, who asked that her last name be withheld because she is still hunting for a new job. “If I can’t pay it off, I was told I could end up in debtors’ prison.”

Now, the gut stirring (not saying in an emotional sense, god, in a literarily appreciative sense, dare I even say secularly epiphanic sense) thing that happens is the wafting sense of there being a Sofia-story, almost the same, just a tiny bit different in each case, behind every one of these 3,000 (or however many, really) abandoned cars.

Someone told me recently that I shouldn’t write fiction about myself, people like myself, or even project myself in to characters based on people similar enough to me, like my father or my grandfather. They are right, totally right. What I want to do instead is to write something that approximates the macro / micro crosscut that I’ve just described. You might well want to say, “Sure Ads, that’s just realism!” But it’s not really. Realism, classically conceived and actualized, does no such thing, as it’s too wedded to the character, her/his individuality, and later his/her interiority to really achieve the effect I am talking about.

Perhaps I’ll make a post soon that talks about a few attempts at aggregated fiction. If you have suggestions for me to read, I’d love to hear them obviously.

I love / hate it when there’s a word that I want that doesn’t quite exist. (For instance, was thinking the other day that I want a word for “possession” or “possessiveness” from which the economic register has been surgically excised… But there is no such word…) I’d like a word that stands for something like the uncanny, except instead of the stuck dialectic of the familiar and the unfamiliar, my new word handle the stuck dialectic of the single and the aggregate. (Agamben’s whatever doesn’t quite cut it, though it’s close… Maybe it’s better in Italian, but in English it has that stupid Valley shrug and eyeroll to it… And that’s not the only problem…)

But basically the effect that I’d like to get to would be a smooth and subtle version of something like this: I’d like to tell the story of Sofia’s last day in Dubai, packing her suitcase and stuffing it into the back of her 3 series Beemer, dropping the keys to her overly-expensive flat in the mail slot of the building’s superintendent, driving to the airport and abandonning her car in the parking lot but then, through the magic of form, somehow push the story though some sort of calculator that converts it all to TIMES 3000, NOT QUITE BUT MORE OR LESS THE SAME.

In other words, and sure, in a continuation of many modernist narrative projects with which I am intimately, oh so intimately familiar, I’d like to work out a subtle, non-ostentatious form for the embodied generic, the lived aggregatation, the soft-spread typical.

Think after critical project X and critical project Y, and any actual fiction in between, the next one will be on just this.

Written by adswithoutproducts

February 13, 2009 at 11:48 pm

“we just saw the ground, you know what’s goin on?”

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Was just now talking to a student about inverted, negative ways of making meaning. Actually two students in a row – Victorian nonsense verse, Woolf’s Jacob’s Room. And now I’m listening to the ATC communications from the flight that crashed near Buffalo. Technical chatter, formalized language of the professional and the breaking of form. That’s not a sentence, I know. The ghoulishness of proximity – how are we hearing this already?

Another guy, pinned against the wall of the “reception center” that they set up for the “relatives of the victims,” narrates in front of cameras and reporters with notebooks what it was like to call his mother in Florida and tell her that his sister and her daughter was likely dead. “To tell you the truth I heard my mother make a noise on the phone that I have never heard before.” It is a convention of the genre, to say it like this, but we also know what he means and we believe him. The tag on the video, woven into an article on CNN.com, reads: “Watch victim’s brother discuss delivering the tragic news to his mother.” The imperative verb at the start, which is just stylebook stuff, how they make the links, nonetheless disturbs, grates. Feels pimpish, toutish. Watch a woman with no arms tie her corset with her teeth! Watch the epic battle of an Egyptian crocodile and a Russian Black Bear! Watch these scenes of tragedy and pathos, all in one act!

It feels a bit belated now to watch an airplane crash and think about the presentation of it, the language and images. Feels obsoletely pomo, mid-DeLillo, past due. Especially since we’ve apparently outlived the period of jolting catastrophe and have moved on to ecological pacings, the slow impact, the incremental collapse. We are back in a period of slowly sinking ships rather than the slip and burst; our thoughts and dreams are scored in the slow time of the lifeboat without food and fresh water rather than the uncanny break of the tailwing speared into the suburban backyard. But still, apparently, the planes will keep crashing, whatever our hopes and nightmares have to say about it.

Written by adswithoutproducts

February 13, 2009 at 12:42 pm

Posted in catastrophe, teevee, uncanny