Said Joyce Carol Oates in a NYT interview.
Oates was married from 1961 to 2008 and from 2009 to 2019. Both marriages ended when the husband died.
July 17, 2023
"Everything that you think is solid is actually fleeting and ephemeral. The only thing that is quasi-permanent..."
"... would be a book or work of art or photographs or something. Anything you create that transcends time is in some ways more real than the actual reality of your life. If you set your hand on fire right now, it’s ephemeral. It would hurt, but Plato would say it’s not as real as something that transcends time. I am a person who was married, and was very happily married. Yet, that’s all gone now. Where is it?... People are seduced by the beauty of the close-at-hand, and they don’t have the discipline or the predilection or the talent, maybe, to say: 'I’m not going to go out tonight. I’m not going to waste my time on Twitter. I’m going to have five hours and work on my novel.' If you did that every day, you’d have a novel. Many people say, 'I’m going to pet my cat' or 'I’m with my children.' There’s lots of reasons that people have for not doing things. Then the cats are gone, the children move away, the marriage breaks up or somebody dies, and you’re sort of there, like, 'I don’t have anything.'... But if you read Ovid’s 'Metamorphoses,' Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal. You see that theme in Shakespeare’s sonnets. You're reading this, so I'm still alive...."
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78 comments:
So I wrote my book now what.
Five hours is a lot.
Marcus Aurelius and the other Stoics covered all of this thousands of years ago.
There's nothing new under the sun.
She could find better stuff to read, though.
Pair this with the Tomi Morrison quote in the previous post. We have at most only 10% of Aeschylus' total output.
"Anything you create that transcends time is in some ways more real than the actual reality of your life."
This gets straight to the heart of why I've never enjoyed anything of hers that I've read--or tried to read. You cannot transcend time in art if you believe the the reality of your life and all our lives can be subsumed so cavalierly and made secondary to the imagined universe.
In a similar vein, I learned relatively late in his career why Philip Roth never did it for me the way I was reliably informed he was supposed to. In a NYT review of his Lindbergh book, I read for the first time that he was childless--and realized that the part of him which would've developed from fatherhood but didn't was what was missing for me.
So she's the anti-Buddhist. Never mind be present in the moment, enjoy what you have while you have it. No, better to eschew all earthly pleasures so that after you're gone, somebody might still look at what you did in life and know your name. Maybe.
I agree with what she wrote, and I like it. But she is leaving out "full time job" as a reason to avoid writing. She was married in 1961 and the first thing on her resume is a novel in 1964.
Assuming she was not working, she had 10-12 hours more per day than her husband had to figure out what to do with.
Time for Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey.
https://smartnora.com/blog/10-most-amazing-deep-thoughts-by-jack-handey/https://smartnora.com/blog/10-most-amazing-deep-thoughts-by-jack-handey/
“If you go flying back through time, and you see somebody else flying forward into the future, it’s probably best to avoid eye contact.”
“In the life of a man, his time is but a moment, his being an incessant flux, his sense a dim rushlight, his body a prey of worms, his soul an unquiet eddy, his fortune dark, his fame doubtful. In short, all that is body is as coursing waters, all that is of the soul as dreams and vapors.”
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
He says it all, succinctly and beautifully.
A writer telling us that writing is really, really important! Almost all currently-existing books will be in landfills in less than a century, leaving (at best) a pattern of electromagnetic pulses stored somewhere. And Oates considers this 'enduring'?
Joyce Carol Oates...the only thing real is creating art? NOT family. NOT being of service to others. Farming? Not real.
Why do these creative types spend so much time justifying their actions?
Steve Jobs
Musk
Gates
Thomas Jefferson
Cesar
Moses
Their contributions are not real?
No one will be reading her works 100 years from now or even 50.
Yes, you could write a novel, and hope that it survives. But, as Theodore Sturgeon so snarkily answered when someone asked why he wrote science fiction because 90% of science fiction is crap, "90% of everything is crap." Is producing crap better than playing with your children? Besides, 99+% of the art you produce doesn't survive, anyway.
"'I don’t have anything.'"
Newsflash: in the end, no one has anything. Let's ask Plato how he's enjoying his time-transcending fame.
Is JCO the most overrated "writer" in America? Genuine question. I don't think I've read any of her novels, and when I encountered her stuff in smaller doses, I usually felt an aversion and had to stop.
Everything everyone does transcends time. A kindergarten teacher helps a little girl overcome her shyness. That little girl becomes a nurse who plays a key role in the ER after that terrible school fire. One of the children she saved grows up to…
I was just reading about Lt. Lyle Bouck who at the age of 20 led an 18 man platoon that held up an entire German Army for 20 hours in the Battle of the Bulge and may have thereby changed the outcome of WW II. Think about his parents, neighbors, teachers, friends who helped shape this man’s character. They had no knowledge of the crucial role they played in world history.
But everyone has countless opportunities, every day, to make a contribution. Maybe a small contribution, but no one knows where that might lead.
The other school of thought is that there is only the Now.
What do I care for the permanence of something after I am gone? I prefer the ephemeralness of petting my cat that I can enjoy here and now.
I, for one, recall the recent story about the goon who carved his name in the Roman Colosseum, and used as his "defence" that he didn't know it was all that old. I don't believe he got any sympathy for this act or this defence.
So apparently some time-transcendent things, like a ruin from 2000 years ago, are held more dear than other time-transcendent things, like a name carved onto the ruin. Someone needs to show just how the math works on this differential, or there will be confusion down the line.
Also in the running for quasi-permanent is composing music, building an addition, planting a garden, teaching a class, plein air painting, etc. The essential ingredient in her self-satisfied declaration is fame. If all that Ted Kaczynski produced were his writings, he would've remained unknown. His bombings made him immortal/infamous.
Nothing lasts forever.
Unless its Henry Kissinger.
She sounds like a keeper.
if you read Ovid’s 'Metamorphoses,' Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal.
Serious Question: WHO will live longer Schrödinger's cat? or Ovid?
I've GOT a copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses, But MY money is on that darned cat!
Meanwhile inside the box.. Schrodinger's cat plots his revenge
Ozymandias speaks.
So, suicides?
This is a lovely interview. I just started reading JCO recently. She really does have ‘a lot of fun stories.’ Those are my favorites at the moment.
Here’s another piece of the interview:
Q: . . . Do you think the people who don’t leave something like that behind spent their time on the wrong things?
A: David, there are some questions that arise when one is being interviewed that would never otherwise have arisen. . . . Much of what I’m doing is, I’m backed into a corner and the way out is desperation. So, no, I don’t necessarily feel that was a judgment. How would I know what it would be like to have 15 wonderful grandchildren? I didn’t raise horses. I didn’t have dogs. There are many things I haven’t done that make people happy and fulfilled. I’m not passing any judgment. I’m backed into a corner that is my identity; I don’t have experience of other things. I don’t think about these things unless somebody asks me. I’m thinking about the next chapter in my novel.
I love that answer. It’s true for all of us. We can’t experience everything. We’re all backed into a corner . . .
Why do Joyce Carol Oates's husbands die before she does? Because they want to.
If you want a challenge to read, the Explanatory Supplement to the American Ephemeris and Nautical Almanac has drawn countless complaints about its incomprehensibility among scientists trying to use it.
She sure liked being married.
Is JCO the most overrated "writer" in America? Genuine question. I don't think I've read any of her novels, and when I encountered her stuff in smaller doses, I usually felt an aversion and had to stop.
Genius T. Coates for you on line 2.
All graves go unvisited in the long run. A tough lesson but important. And for 99.9999% of us, "long run" is measured in years or, at most, tens of years. How many of us visit the graves of our grandparents?
Craving remembrance isn't healthy. It's why some people kill, in fact. But there's nothing wrong with writing a novel if it makes you happy, just don't do it to achieve faux longevity.
If I spent 5 hours a day writing a novel, I would be forgotten precisely as quickly as I will be forgotten given that I do not spend 5 hours a day writing a novel, because I am not Shakespeare.
It is notable, I believe, that the first marriage never produced children.
Which is more lasting- the literature one left behind (people will probably be reading Oates long after she dies, but she is no Jane Austen), or one's direct descendants?
"I’m not passing any judgment. I’m backed into a corner that is my identity; I don’t have experience of other things. I don’t think about these things unless somebody asks me. I’m thinking about the next chapter in my novel."
This seems disingenuous. What is an imagination for if not to consider someone happy living their life with their children and grandchildren?
Although I admit that having the experience gives you far more insight into what it truly feels like. Exposing yourself to new things give you a better understanding of what that's about than reading someones else's experience of it.
And remember, JCO will be remembered forever as the answer to the question put to Gore Videl: "What are the three saddest words in literature?"
Sort of thing a person with no children might say.
I guess I don't understand her point in that it's rare to be able to write a novel to begin with, and extremely rare to have a novel be published and to continue to be of value through the generations.
I think it's all ephemeral, and at the same time I think that there is a spiritual realm outside of our material mundane existence. In that realm, the beauty I found in this world makes a mark there. The marriage we have created stands as its own ineffable immortal work. Love lasts.
I see Kate already brought up Ozymandias. She brings up Ovid's Metamorphoses, is she hoping two thousand years from now people are reading Joyce Carol Oates? I'd say she is setting herself up for disappointment but something tells me she won't experience that.
If she marries again then I think she’s full of herself.
&sh!t. Full of sh!t.
Sella Turcica, 11:08:
I really appreciate this wonderful comment. And thank you for reminding me of Bouck, of whom I'd read years ago. This jumped out from the Wikipedia entry:
"In 2004, the book The Longest Winter was published documenting the defensive actions of the platoon. Bouck cooperated with the author, Alex Kershaw, but imposed one condition, 'I told him that other authors never wrote about the other men in the platoon, just me. I said I wouldn't talk to him unless he promised that he'd also write about the other men.'"
I just want to add 2 things.
1. “Marcus Aurelius and the other Stoics covered all of this thousands of years ago. There's nothing new under the sun.”
(including TNNUTS) Often, we need to hear one of those eternal truths at a particular time in our lives, said in a way that is meaningful to us, said by a person (fictional or not) who we are open to listening to. That’s what sometimes makes a difference in our lives. In the interview when JCO says, “Much of what I’m doing is, I’m backed into a corner and the way out is desperation . . . It’s like jumping into some water. You don’t know if it’s going to be cold or warm, but it’s exciting. That’s the way I live.” That really resonated with me.
2. One of the reasons that I really like JCO is that she often mentions other works that catch my attention. In this interview she mentions A Great Beauty by director Paolo Sorrentino. I’ve never heard of him, but I’m going to watch this movie tonight.
And what to make of Ovid's bid for immortality in light of the feminist/multi-culti deconstruction project over the last 50 years? Given his sense of humor, I assume he'd laugh it off, saying "Go ahead take a piss on my grave--at least you're here!"
“But if you read Ovid’s 'Metamorphoses,' Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal.”
I read one of her books once. I don’t remember a thing about it.
Unless, of course, other humans have some sort of subsequent life. Transcending Time...where have I heard that before? It sounds oddly familiar.
Then it is novels and compositions that are completely ephemeral and the children that are permanent.
Oates very astutely sees through other people's excuses about creative endeavor. It doesn't seem to have occurred to her that she has some of her own in other realms.
Even protons disappear, which is bad news for anything made of elements.
"Many people say, 'I’m going to pet my cat' or 'I’m with my children.' There’s lots of reasons that people have for not doing things."
Petting the cat and being with one's children are doing things. They may seem ephemeral, and may not appear to be significant in the grand scheme of things to be done, but Oates' narrow view is rather nihilist, if not narcissistic.
Now so much creative art is on the Net - like this and other blogs - it would seem to be even more ephemeral. On the other hand, I bumped into Jerry Pournelle the day before yesterday, and though he is dead, he speaks.
If time is a dimension, then all moments still exist. I take comfort in believing that somewhere up the line, my grandparents are still living, and I am enjoying the moments I spent with them.
How about Johnny Cash? "Hurt." My Kingdom of Dirt.
Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal.
Cool, I'm immortal on two fronts.
Oddly, I'm immortal mostly in Japan.
Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal.
Cool, I'm immortal on two fronts.
Oddly, I'm immortal mostly in Japan.
People don’t even read Oates now.
Schrödinger's cat went into his box in 1935.. About 3 years before Joyce was born.
Nearly 30 years later, Joyce starting publishing. She's STILL publishing today.
Serious Question..
Has there EVER been a time, that there Weren't More people who knew about Schrödinger's cat than Ms Oates?
Clearly, in 1935 VERY few people knew about the cat.. And NO ONE knew about Ms Oates..
Today, MOST people (people who watch The Big Bang Theroy, anyway) know about the cat..
Today, Many people have HEARD of Joyce Carol Oates.. But How Many have EVER even read her?
I sure haven't, and i read a lot.
By 2039 both Joyce and the cat will be over a 100 years old. Which will be more widely known?
By 2089?
By 2139?
My guess, is that Schrödinger's cat will live one HELL of a LOT longer than Ms Oates.
And, he will STILL be pissed off at Schrödinger. Hell hath No Fury, like a cat trapped in a box
I've read and enjoy the classics, much of the Roman stuff in the original, along with Columella's remarkable writings in agriculture. I've published three non-fiction books, two of which I wrote in French. Writing can convey and preserve your thoughts, discoveries, and ideas to other people, in other times, and in other places. This is the sine qua non of all that we call civilisation.
That said, I remain a farmer, with scars to prove it. Yet there is a common theme, at best poorly expressed in the article.
Most people vastly over-estimate what we can accomplish in a day, but under-estimate what we can accomplish in a YEAR ... or twenty. Because I eschew chemical pesticides, the number of bird species nesting on my farm has increased by half in 20 years. Nevertheless, four of the five worst weeds in Kansas are no longer an economic factor on this farm, largely eliminated by learning their life cycles and hitting them at their most vulnerable times.
I have words to convey that info to people for whom it matters. It is how knowlwdge, wisdom, and history are conveyed.
But I also have my loved ones, and my cat, without whom life would be much the poorer, and in consequence my work -- from growing broccoli to advancing agricultural science -- would be disembodied from essential human experience, ephemeral as it might be to some, and therefore of greatly diminished value.
"I guess I don't understand her point in that it's rare to be able to write a novel to begin with, and extremely rare to have a novel be published and to continue to be of value through the generations."
Her point is simple: we die and are (most of us) completely forgotten in a short time. From a distance and over time, we are no more than ants in an ant colony or bees in a beehive, individually insignificant, important only to the degree we contributed to the existence of our species, with only our surviving physical works left to show we lived, (anonymously). Billions of people have lived and died in our brief time on this planet, (a tiny fraction of the time the dinosaurs existed on the planet). Effectively, all of those billions are completely forgotten, and were barely noticed in their lives. Only our concrete records survive us--the works of art, philosophy, science, history, constructions, edifices, and artifacts we produce--and relatively few of us produce such artifacts, and most of the artifacts that are produced will also disappear into oblivion.
Being childless, Ms. Oates may not consider the generations of descendants who live because one lived and reproduced (for those who have, of course). The works of our progeny, generations and generations on and on, are trace proof and testament to our once having lived. However, even that blood record will grow faint, and our descendants will lose (or never discover) the trail leading all the way back to us.
I think she is also lamenting how much time so many of us waste, when we could be applying ourselves to efforts that might survive our time as markers of our existence. Put this way, her lament seems egotistical, but it is only in the surviving works of preceding generations that we (as a species) know who we are, who we were, and who we might become.
I've read and enjoy the classics, much of the Roman stuff in the original, along with Columella's remarkable writings in agriculture. I've published three non-fiction books, two of which I wrote in French. Writing can convey and preserve your thoughts, discoveries, and ideas to and for other people, in other times, and in other places. This is the sine qua non of all that we call civilisation.
That said, I remain a farmer, with scars to prove it. Yet there is a common theme, at best poorly expressed in the article.
Most people vastly over-estimate what we can accomplish in a day, but under-estimate what we can accomplish in a YEAR ... or twenty. Because I eschew chemical pesticides, the number of bird species nesting on my farm has increased by half in 20 years. Nevertheless, four of the five worst weeds in Kansas are no longer an economic factor on this farm, largely eliminated by learning their life cycles and hitting them at their most vulnerable times. Obscure century-old works have more than once provided important ideas and guidance.
I have words to convey that info to people for whom it matters. It is how knowledge, wisdom, and history are conveyed. Culture, technology, and civilisation can be lost in three generations -- to wit, Portland cement, lost for 1900 years -- and libraries are by far the best buffer against that horrific possibility. Because i'm researching ancient Middle Eastern agriculture, I look forward to reading AI-generated translations of the ancient tablets, now languishing in museum storage for want of translators.
But I also have my loved ones, and my cat, without whom life would be much the poorer, and in consequence my work -- from growing broccoli to advancing agricultural science, or rediscovering it -- would be disembodied from essential human experience, ephemeral as it might be to some, and therefore of greatly diminished value, since ephemeral delights, be they a friendly cat, a delicious meal, or a good roll in the hay with my best friend, are the contrapuntal melody which enriches and even enables work of lasting value.
".....don’t go mistaking Paradise
For that home across the road"
JCO creates books. That's great and more power to her, and you can see her accomplishment sitting in your lap as you read it. (Or, less kindly, sitting on a remainder table at the book store
But people create all sorts of things--carpenters build houses, architects, designers and engineers create worthwhile and sometimes beautiful structures. I have a transactional lawyer friend who started early and became a major force in shaping and building the "biomedical Silicon Valley" that grew up near the Salk Institute and Sorrento Valley in San Diego.
That work started about ten years latter than did the San Jose area Silicon Valley. But the pattern was the same--the lawyers had to sort of make it up as things went along in a brand new industry, but they helped all of those young companies grow.
And of course none of this makes the achievements of mothers and fathers in building strong families and healthy happy children any less of an achievement.
Compare and contrast with Woody's take: I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve immortality by not dying.
Not that he, she, or ussens in general should worry about being forgotten; Franklin could have added 'being forgotten' to death and taxes.
JCO has never been to my taste, but I grant her the right to her choices--like many artists good, bad, and indifferent she creates because she must create. To them that's reality.
No one will be reading her works 100 years from now or even 50
I disagree; she is every bit the novelist Theodore Dresser was, only more prolific.
The reality sphere is infinite.
It's obvious Carol Oats never watched 80's television #1 show Solid Gold.
My great-great grandfather wrote a lot of books -- histories, biographies, moral outreach -- and was well regarded in his day. No one reads his books today, not even me (and I've tried!). Styles and interests change. If Oates thinks that her books will give her immortality, God bless her.
That desire to create what will last longer than we will, like a child or a book. Or a blog.
I don't think it will achieve immortality, but my toenail fungus will live on for quite some time after I'm gone. Perhaps it will even prosper and grow in a coffin environment. The death of the host is no great challenge to a toenail fungus. We all contribute to the cycle of life in our own way. She's produces publishable thoughts, and I produce an enduring toenail fungus. Let us all rejoice in the ways that we have found to transcend oblivion.
True, "...if you set your hand on fire right now..." for no reason, your foolish action will not "transcend time". But Gaius Mucius Scaevola set his hand on fire for a great cause and became immortal.
You have to create something people value so they will spend their time on your creation. I loathe JCO. I would never subject my children or grandchildren to her. I’m sorry I was subjected to her middling crap school. What a waste of MY TIME.
Oates mistakes the everlasting for the eternal. The eternal takes place in an infinite moment, time stops, perhaps. the everlasting just goes on forever. When you have a significant achievement, that is a taste of the eternal. The everlasting is a visit from the inlaws.
As far as literature surviving, I carry around something that a friend of mine told me in grad school: "I think I'd rather be Beethoven than happy. But I'm pretty sure I'm not Beethoven, so I'm going to try to be happy."
“… would be a book…” says the author without a hint of self awareness.
Skeptical Voter. Excellent comment. It reminds me of this Christopher Walken line from “Man on Fire,” “ A man can be an artist... in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it. Creasy's art is death.”
If Hinduism and/or Christianity is right, both the immortal and the eternal lies in creating a goodly soul.
mccullough said...
"People don’t even read Oates now."
I dunno. I have female friends who always liked her work with Darryl Hall back in the 80s.
Three saddest words—Gore Vidal
https://anecdotage.com/anecdotes/gore-vidal-and-the-saddest-words-in-the-english-language
@Robert Cook:
DAY-UM!! You really, really nailed it.
On the question whether Oates had more time to write novels than her husband had to produce lasting works, here's Wikipedia:
"Oates taught at Princeton University from 1978 to 2014, and is the Roger S. Berlind '52 Professor Emerita in the Humanities with the Program in Creative Writing.[2] Since 2016, she has been a visiting professor at the University of California, Berkeley, where she teaches short fiction in the spring semesters.[
"Oates met Raymond J. Smith, a fellow graduate student, at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, and they married in 1961.[8] Smith became a professor of 18th-century literature and, later, an editor and publisher. Oates described the partnership as "a marriage of like minds..." and "a very collaborative and imaginative marriage". Smith died of complications from pneumonia on February 18, 2008, and the death affected Oates profoundly.[34] In April 2008, Oates wrote to an interviewer, "Since my husband's unexpected death, I really have very little energy [...] My marriage – my love for my husband – seems to have come first in my life, rather than my writing. Set beside his death, the future of my writing scarcely interests me at the moment."
"After six months of near suicidal grieving for Smith,[90] Oates met Charles Gross, a professor in the Psychology Department and Neuroscience Institute at Princeton, at a dinner party at her home. In early 2009, Oates and Gross were married.[91][92] On April 13, 2019, Oates announced via Twitter that Gross had died at the age of 83."
On a long enough timeline everything is dust, including her shitty novels. Bliss can be found in the purr of a cat.
This post got me wondering if you, our hostess, prints out hard copies of your posts? If that hasn't been part of your routine, that's a shame since all your writing could be so easily lost if "the cloud" ever vaporized.
michaele said...
"This post got me wondering if you, our hostess, prints out hard copies of your posts? If that hasn't been part of your routine, that's a shame since all your writing could be so easily lost if "the cloud" ever vaporized."
Easier, and more compact, to save as .pdf and copy to optical media like DVD-ROM or BD-ROM. I've lost digital files to hard drive crashes before, but most of what I saved to optical media is still good. BD-ROM is great because the dual layer discs store nearly 45GB and I'm told they have a longer shelf life than CD or DVD data discs.
"This post got me wondering if you, our hostess, prints out hard copies of your posts?"
It's been years since I've printed out anything at all.
In the early days of this blog, printing it out was a big part of my routine. It was before you could read the internet on your phone, so I would print out to have something to read as I walked or stopped in a cafe. It was a big part of developing the style of this blog to read through everything I'd written so far and rereading it, recognizing what I was doing and why it made sense and felt right to me.
Rotate your tires and migrate your data. Or not.
I spent my career observing the obsolescing of the Latest Tech, and ended up in part as overseer of a working museum of late 20th C data storage.
I much preferred the manuscripts, maps, and old books--like "De arte venandi cum avibus" which we had in facsimile.
Oates' books do not transcend time, except in the sense that time seems to pass excruciatingly slowly while reading them.
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