October 31st, 2022 - Narrowing Valley

Dear TNY,

Strange times indeed as we read “Narrowing Valley”.

I can’t say what to make of this story and am probably going to ramble. Be warned.

I’ll be the first person to tell you that sometimes irony passes me by (I’ve been told that’s a uniquely American disability).  So I could be way off base, but this story strikes me as ironic.  But in a bold way.  It makes fun of the traditionalist’s short story, white male protagonist, journey, etc (also, FYI, just because most of the stories you publish don’t look like the traditionalists’ stories (because they seem to do opposite day on that shit (BIPOC non-male, going nowhere, etc)), that doesn’t mean they are good; and I think you have forgotten that (also, and blatantly obvious here: just because a story has the traditional tropes, that doesn’t mean it’s good either).  And it also takes a swing at the newer, or at least newly-visible fad, autofiction.  But, then this story does both things.  And it tells you that it’s going to do them.  And it tells you that by doing them, the writer knows that he is doing nothing new and it will likely fail. And then the story fails. And then tries to use that failure to…shoot for transcendence?  What a concept.

And now…Native culture. What I want to say is that I thought the piece did a good job of not misappropriating a culture.  I thought the Native aspect of this story was treated with respect.  BUT, I’m a white American male.  What do I know?  I could be talking out of my ass, and likely am, because it’s not me that gets to determine if Native culture was respected here because it’s not my culture, by birth, education, or appropriation.  So, I have no clue.  But, by stacking the front section in such a way that it bags on traditional storytelling, and then ending the story with the failed narrative presented in the front third, it makes the middle third seem whole.  Like, the most honest part.  Especially since the narrator (who is also the writer) is shit-talking himself throughout.  I would go so far as to say the only character in this story who is spoken of with value is Max.

I really don’t know what to say about this.  It’s not your normal fare, that’s a fact.  I don’t even know what it is, truth be told.  I don’t even know if it’s a “story” or an essay on storytelling. I didn’t hate it, that’s for sure.  It felt like it was on my team, partially, in that it was calling out exhausted fiction.  But, is it on my team if then attempts to leverage the exact same utensils that the aforementioned (in the goddamn story) exhausted fiction use?  And then, how can it NOT be on my team if it then proves that those methods are rotted on the vine by displaying that failure?  But then, do we consider it possible that a way of making exhausted fiction fresh is to finger the pitfalls and overused tropes directly, and then use them poorly, but in such a manner (i.e. originally) that the story, as a whole, becomes refreshing?

Fuck knows, brothers and sisters. Unique thoughts to ponder.

Either way, more of “different” from you, please.  No more bullshit interiority pieces about New Yorkers in their mid 30’s struggling for meaning (which this shit also includes, different age though) and who have no real problems.

Also, I was talking to a friend last week about this project.  FTNY.  And he said your magazine has ruined me as a reader. Or that this project has. Or both.  As evidence, he stated that “Come Softly to Me” was an excellent story and that I want to hate your stories by default, so I didn’t see that.  And on one hand I agree with him.  It might be impossible to read this much of one entity’s choices, especially yours, and not learn to dislike them (I was made to read all of Hemingway’s short stories, in a row, and I can tell you that his voice gets fucking tiring).  Certainly I have grown to despise your work.  I feel it in my core.  Sometimes I just read the title and feel sick.  Or see the stupid picture and get angry. I do have bias.  But, on the other hand, internally, I always hear the words of an instructor from my MFA Program:  Approach every story with a sense of wonder.  And I’ll admit it has gotten harder over the years to do that.  Especially after reading your work so religiously, TNY.  But I still try to sit down and generate some wonder for you with every story, no matter how small the amount.  And I do believe, of the two combatants in this relationship (and I mean you and I, Bucko), you have done more damage because it is you who is squandering my wonder (as in, you squander more of my wonder than I berate you because of my negative bias).  My belief is that you have forgotten how the wonder exchange works.  You have a business to run.  You have networking circles to maintain.  Cliques to appease.  Friends.  Family.  Professionals. Agendas.  They are all in line at your desk with requests and Art is nowhere in the room. And that’s what plagues me. You seem to have forgotten that great Art is done for Art’s sake.  It’s not done for any other reason. 

So, I’ll take on the challenge of trying to generate some more wonder for you. I’ll try to be better.  But how about you follow what’s being done in a lot of other industries of art and peer review, and start reading shit blind? You want diversity? You want equal representation? You want to publish fucking banger Art? Fresh, impassioned shit that changes lives? Then take you out of the picture. Take us out of the picture. Take away status bias. Take away gender. Take away agenda. Take away color. Take away sexual orientation. Take away when their next book comes out and/or what awards they have won. Take away what school they went to. Take away who they know. Take away the publisher. Take away owed favors. Take away clickbait and buzzy topics. Take away country of origin/culture and take away your fear of getting it wrong. Take away your fear in general. Take away the same fucking biased picking and choosing that created the exhausted white protagonist in this story. Take away every fucking attribute that a story gets judged on that isn’t the Art. Then, like me, we can both sit down with a sense of wonder and let the author work towards keeping, and dare I say growing, that wonder.  And maybe we can have our minds blown.

Until you decide to let the Art be your guiding light instead of every other irrelevant force pushing and pulling you around, including your ego, you and I will suffer here together.

Back to this story, it was good.  Different.  And it was good because it was different.  So please keep them coming.

Nick