there is narrative and there is, as i have in my uneducatedness decided to call it, ‘paranarrative’. in the former, the pieces are laid out and fitted together by the author in a manner that is more or less familiar--not just recognizable but, quite easily, even ‘natural’--to the reader; even more than linearity, its most common quality is the domineering presence of the questions ‘what happened?’; ‘what is happening?’; and/or ‘what happens next?’: the pieces, more than simply fitting into each other in a particular sequence or order (even when they are initially presented otherwise), have virtually no choice but to fall that way. their positions in the overall structure are predetermined, and there is no other way for them to successfully construct the final picture.
in the latter, the pieces might be scattered before the reader; their relationships may also be predetermined, but they may just as easily (and just as well) relate to each other by free association. rather than a jigsaw, you have those four or five piece puzzles consisting of repeating geometric figures that may be fitted together any which way, but will only resolve into certain shapes when put together in specific ways. the previous questions are no less relevant, but more important might be 'how should i put the pieces together?' or 'how do i want to put the pieces together?'; ‘what does all this mean?’ or ‘what are you saying?’; and/or ‘what the fuck are you on?’ in the paranarrative, the narrative might provide the framework, but it at times seems almost incidental; it is, of course, necessary, but not necessarily consequential; another device or instrument, it seems a means rather than an end.
i have, of late, come to realize that it is the latter which appeals more to my--let’s call them ‘aesthetic sensibilities’ or, more simply, ‘tastes’. but the very best stuff to my mind finds a balance at any one point between those extremes, such that while they may lean towards one ‘quality’ more than the other, the bias does not result in the other being stretched too tenuously, or stuffed into a corner.
it is this way of ‘categorizing’ fiction--more than the increasingly hazy distinctions between ‘genre’ and ‘mainstream’--that i have, of late, found useful in picking out what i will (personally) most likely find a rewarding read.
which include, most recently:
The Final Programme, Michael Moorcock
Justine, and, ostensibly, the entire Alexandria Quartet, Lawrence Durrell
the short fiction concerning the life and times of Jerry Cornelius and
The New Nature of the Catastrophe, in particular
The Peking Junction, Michael Moorcock;
The Ash Circus and
The Nash Circuit, M. John Harrison
currently reading:
A Cure for Cancer, Michael Moorcock;
The New Nature of the Catastrophe, Langdon Jones and Michael Moorcock (eds);
The Atrocity Exhibition (expanded and annotated), J.G. Ballard
on the spinner:
Amotion, A Perfect Circle;
Bawlers (Orphans disc 2), Tom Waits
