March 28th, 2022 - After the Funeral

Dear TNY,

Was “After the Funeral” written a hundred years ago? 

I know it’s set in the 70’s, so that can’t be possible.  But still.  This reads like it was innovative writing around the turn of the century (not 2000 either).  Like, this would be suitable for the first issue of TNY (on this subject, I don’t like The Great Gatsby either because I have to be reminded to “consider when it was written” but fuck that because it’s just a tired story in this modern age because it’s been done a million times; it might be the first time it was done, ever, but it wasn’t the first time for me).  But this story is not innovative.  It’s not fresh.  It’s droll.  It plays into 50’s stereotypes.  Wait, let’s talk about that.

Is that an issue today?  I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  I’m a man, so I don’t know the other side.  What I’m getting at here is…does this shit still matter?  We have a philandering pilot husband who dies of a heart attack in the arms of another woman, and a mom who can’t handle the tremendous loss (or even daily activities) such that her daughters have to look after her.  Meanwhile, she’s taking suitors late into the night (in a very B&W film sort of way).  And then, what, the daughter fucks the guy too (not even clear on this point because it was hard to care about this abuse of the human language long enough to pay attention to it)?  This is still interesting?  This is what the world needs, literarily?  This is changing the canon?

Oh, and of course Dr. Cherry was cheating on his wife to fuck these women, and naturally, just like Snidely Whiplash, was going to leave his wife and kids until he realized how much he’d be lowering his class. I’m out of breath by how original that plotline is.

I mean, this shit feels like it shouldn’t exist in your magazine with today’s diversity push.  This story is white as fuck.  Cishet beyond measure.  Upper middle class drudgery defines this story.  And it’s built from the American Dream model of misogyny (even though it’s set in the UK). 

So, cool cool cool.  Groundbreaking work here.  Really putting yourself out there.  I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the author is famous and has something coming out soon (but I’m not going to find out because I almost never do).  There is no fucking reason for this to exist otherwise.

Well, I’m not going to waste any more time on this bullshit.  Ah, shit. Maybe one more comment, now that I think of it:  The point of Art is to make us feel, to capture our attention, to build within us the complex emotions we experience in the real world, but in a safe way that allows for empathy growth.  The point is to have us transcend the plane.  Touch the ether.  Feel the warmth of the Collective Unconscious on our skin.  This piece makes me want to stop reading and go back to the real world.  To disengage with the product (the “art”) and just go live my life.  So what the fuck is the point of publishing it? 

Dumb.  Just dumb.  You’re dumb and you don’t even know it.

Later, hotcakes.

Nick