June 10th & 17th, 2019 - Conduction

Dear TNY,

“Conduction”.

I made it a thousand words into this story.  It is completely possible, in my opinion, that the author of this story reads these words aloud to himself or herself and swoons over how breathtaking they appear to be.  That, and the rest of the world is helping support this writer, an emperor, in his or her shiny new duds.

Normally I’d stop here, but I’d like to be specific about why this story is fucking unreadable if you actually care about literature.  Almost every sentence is beyond overwrought.  Here is an example:

I departed Virginia with few effects to my name and no real farewells, on a hot summer Monday morning, four months after I had run from Lockless, the plantation of my birth, the plantation of my father.

And another:

There were people everywhere on the streets, a Virginia race day multiplied a hundredfold, as though the whole of the world had gathered there, gathered to heave between the workshops and fur dealerships and druggists, to walk the stone-chipped streets, to inhale the acrid air.

I’m sure there are more, but I didn’t waste my time with the other 8K+ words because it was very apparent early on that the voice was very confident, although it shouldn’t have been, and was going to continue being just as verbose, unaware, and snooty the rest of the time.  And that you, TNY, had no fucking clue that was happening.

And to be perfectly clear, it is totally acceptable to write in such a way that the writing is what the reader enjoys, the story being second.  Nabokov is probably the best at this.  His words are delicious.  Also, Nicholson Baker is quite good at this as well.  How else could he have made The Mezzanine interesting?  But this story feels like an ego flexing hollow cred.  Boo.

[SARCASM WARNING] I’m beyond excited to read the other two “stories” from the “fiction” issue.  You have so much “wisdom” and “editorial experience” when it comes to publishing “literature” that’s “the best writing anywhere, everywhere.”

Nick