I Want to be a Crime Novelist

Writers, like all artists, are concerned with representing reality, to create a more absolute and complete reality than reality itself. They must, if they are to accomplish this, assume a moral position, a clearly conceived political, social, and philosophical attitude; in consequence, their beliefs are, of course, going to find their way into their work. What artists believe, however, is of secondary importance, ancillary to the work itself. A writer survives in spite of his beliefs.

From the Paris Review "The Art of Fiction No. 6" interview of Alberto Moravia.

Since mid-June, I thought about Moravia's observation. At times, my locations shaped my considerations of his assertion. I thought about them while at a trade show in Las Vegas, a photography opening in Houston, sales meetings at a Club Med, along a beach on Florida's Atlantic coast, in hotel rooms outside Chicago, at a friend's home in Los Angeles, with my wife over dinner in hipster Brooklyn, and in bluntly unfashionable Newark. Understanding these environments became quickly challenging without what Moravia characterized as a "moral position." Since I lacked such a foundation, writing about them became an elusive endeavor.

This realization deeply bothered me, and connected with my deep dissatisfaction with the current unwillingness of most Americans to plainly and honestly consider what's happening in their own country. That reticence became most striking to me while watching TV in airport waiting areas. I came to the conclusion, from the mindless entertainment programs and shallow broadcast news reporting, that people just don't want to know very much. They may demand reinforcement of their prejudices, but that's a long way from a commitment to clarity, reason, and action. One of the few chinks in this armor is the crime novel, which retain a mass popularity with American readers and which can dive deeply into America's dark side.

Currently, I'm reading a Leonardo Sciascia short story collection titled The Wine-Dark Sea. He was the first significant Italian author to break silence about the Sicilian Mafia. Sciascia did this, not out of some desire to create lurid novels and motion pictures, but to address the reality of Sicilian lives. Other Italian novelists have created detective or mystery novels in which Italian society's contradictions and darker side can be usefully explored. Some of these novelists have quite interesting backgrounds, at least from my initial investigation of their work and biographies. (One respected crime fiction writer is an active jurist.) However, I'm just learning about them, the variety of their work, and their respective "moral positions."

While I was brooding about Moravia and Italian crime fiction, my wife and I began to discuss the possibility of a trip to Rome. She wants to photograph there. I've been hesitant to visit; I lived there over thirty years ago and contemplating a return stirred up a number of questions and personal history I simultaneously dread and cherish. Breaking that admittedly harmful psychological chain required something more than a walk down the Eternal City's memory lane.  Seeing the Roman settings for spaghetti mysteries (thank you, Sergio Leone) will help drive me, inspire me toward the type of fiction I am committed to creating.

My conclusion led me to contemplate writing Italian-style crime novels as a way for me to express our national reality from a Moravian perspective. I find America having much in common with Italian-style corruption. That realization is one reason why I so admire The Wire, which depicted urban reality with a clear perspective. Unsurprisingly, the series never won a major award. However, it's notable that Mad Men and Sex and the City, two popular TV series about New York-based "reality," were necessarily classist fantasies that lacked any "moral position." And yes, they won lots of awards.

I'm looking forward to writing about the real world, although I don't have any idea how it will evolve or become tangible. It's surely better than fantasyland.

Abercrombie & Fitch's "Jersey Shore" Situation

Today's publicity stunt involving Abercrombie and Fitch and MTV's Jersey Shore series generated the attention both firms most devoutly desired.

However, it raised issues that ironically get to the malignant heart of both brands' success. According to The New York Times article on the manufactured flap, A&F offered to pay MTV so that Jersey Shore's actors would not be shown wearing its clothing. As A&F noted in a statement, "This association is contrary to the aspirational nature of our brand, and may be distressing to many of our fans."

If the fans are "distressed," then they have way too much time on their hands. However, A&F makes it clear the issue is entirely about social class. Jersey Shore is popular because it's a caricature of perceived lower class stupidity and foolishness. In the bad old days, condescending, demeaning shows used African-American caricatures as entertainment vehicles. That faded away in the aftermath of the Civil Rights movement. However, the mockery of lower classes has returned more or less in tandem with the recent, increased division of America into a "have" or "have not" society. Jersey Shore has successfully tapped into this unsavory zeitgeist, the same one that produces Abercrombie and Ken's "aspirational" branding.

Jersey Shore has something else in common with the old minstrel shows. Its principal character, Snooki, is "swarthy." She is as distant from the look of, say, Pippa Middleton or any number of pouty Russian blonde supermodels, as one can be. Snooki doesn't portray a very bright woman. She celebrates her grotesque cheapness, which enables an audience to indulge in feelings of class superiority. Snooki's dark complexion and moronic character are part of the "lower class" package, a backdoor form of racism that has morphed into classism.

Depressingly, American classism extends across ethnic lines, age, sexual preferences, and gender. It's now routine for American discourse to coalesce around assumed class structures. NPR, for example, has implied its audience's level of sophistication is essentially a matter of class. "Aspirational" fashion brands such as Ralph Lauren and Abercrombie and Fitch are entirely about social striving. Sex and the City was basically a valentine to decidedly unswarthy women whose greatest goal in life was to enjoy the bourgeois life of America's "aspirational" capital, Manhattan South of 96th Street.

A different Abercrombie and Fitch message was heard on Wall Street last week, when A&F announced quarterly earnings. As financial journalists often say, "analysts were disappointed," and A&F's shares promptly fell 8 percent. If that corporate performance continues in the same way, Abercrombie and Fitch may end up worn by the "wrong" people, seen in the "wrong" places, and perceived the "wrong" way. A&F will be on the wrong side of the social tracks, and they won't get Snooki and The Situation to wear their clothes. Even if Abercrombie and Fitch paid them.

The photo shows Jersey Shore cast members; the shrimpy woman is Snooki.