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August 17, 2005
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Full disclosure: Nick and I attended the same high school. He was(and, for that mattter, is, and will always be) a year younger than me,and for most of high school, I didn't really know much about him,though I probably disliked him anyway, because he went to that highschool. My interactions with Nick were limited to: 1) A couple ofvicious, tooth-and-nail arguements at meetings for the schoolnewspaper; there was a particularly nasty back-and-forth after somemulti-cultural assembly; I guess we were discussing the issues itraised, etc. and somehow we got on the topic of multi-culturalism (ick,I hate that word) in the curriculum, whether we read enough works bywomen and minorities; Nick seemed to think we read too muchwork by women and minorities instead of the "classics" and "greatauthors" ("Hemmingway. And Henry James."), and I, of course, flewoff the handle at that, objecting to the notion that works by culturalminorities that we read in class should be restricted to certainquotas, that literature by privledges white men did not represent the'universal human experience' that 'classics' claim to offer, and, well,it got pretty nasty. Oh, now that I am remembering this, Iremember I think I did actively dislike Nick, at least for my firstthree years of high school. 2) Witnessing a frightening speechNick gave when he was running for school office; of course he won-- hehad the charisma of a young Hitler; he walked around the gym floorwithout a mike, gesticulating alarmingly, getting kids all riled upover the issue of soda machines and whatever.
But sometime in my senior year, my opinion of him started tochange. There was a school writing contest where I came in firstand Nick second; I got to read his story, and I liked it-- a lot-- so Idecided he was alright. I did an art tutorial with another girlin the senior class and, Paul, who was really talented and a yearyounger; I got to be friendly with Paul, and Paul always spoke well ofNick. Then Nick interviewed me for an article when I was selectedas class speaker for graduation, and I thought he was nice and smartand funny. In the course of the interview, he asked about mysummer plans. I told him that, because of a windfall in prizemoney that spring, I could afford to not make money that summer butspend my time writing a novel I had started. Well, that wasaround the time that Nick began writing Twelve. Nick was friends with an ex-boyfriend of mine, and as said ex-boyfriendand I warmed up to being friends with one another again, I got to knowNick a little better. He talked to me about writing something fora literary magazine he wanted to create, and we started correspondingnow and then, mostly about writing, how we felt about it, how it wasgoing, what we were going to do with our novels when we were done.
(In one email, Nick wrote me that it was his absolute dream to have hisnovel published by Grove press because Grove had published some authorshe admired-- of course, at the time, I had no idea who Nick's fatherwas, or that Nick had any personal connection to Grove; I think I hadsome vague idea that Nick's parents did something in publishing-- Iknew, for instance, that Nick had met Joan Didion and Fran Lebowitz,and I was envious and admiring of him for that; in one exchange, Imentioned how different it must be for him, then, to have grown upknowing people who had made it as writers than it was for me growing upthe daughter of doctors who discouraged me to think of writing as acareer choice; my models of grown-ups who chose to try to make a lifeout of a creative pursuit were my parents' friends and the parents ofmy friends from P.S. 41, people who worked very hard, who were verytalented and good at what they did but who had no recognition and livedpretty much hand-to-mouth.)
We continued our irregular correspondance through my freshman year ofcollege. I knew his book was going to be published, and I likedto read his descriptions of the wacky world of publishing, as he gearedup for the release of the book. He sent me a galleys copy, and Ithought that was pretty cool. That summer I was back to New Yorkand ended up hanging out with Nick and the ex-boyfriend. Duringsophmore year, my friendship with Jeff cooled off following an incidentwe need not discuss, and, as I fell out of touch with Jeff, byextension I also lost contact with Nick.
I'm not going to lie. I read that article. I am jealous of Nick McDonell. Notbecause of his celebrity or prestige. I can't say that I have anydesire to be part of that sleazy, macho, bullcrap world; sorry, butthat description of Morgan Entrenkin bragging with his mouth full ofexpensive salami made my stomach turn. I am envious of anyone whohas conversed with Joan Didion-- Didion's writing is extremelyimportant and dear to me-- but, in general, I don't aspire toparticipate in the high-brow hob-nobbing that goes on at theOld Boys Publishing Club-- oops, I mean Corporation.
I don't envy Nick for what he has exactly but for what he couldhave, for the abundance of choices that are open to him. What Ienvy most about Nick is that for him "writer" is a reasonable andrelatively secure occupation to pursue. From time to time, inorder to stave off overwhelming and paralyzing hopelessness, I'll tellmyself, "it's ok that I work a crappy job; I need time topractice my art, anyway, by writing long unread novels during the fewhours between work and sleep; I like my unexceptional life; it is good for me to struggle; it is better to wait until I produce something worthwhile and then seeif I can make writing into a career than to aspire to professionalmediocrity at a young age; plenty of excellent and much-read authorswork crappy jobs half their lives and don't publish a sentence until atleast middle-age." But I know that isn't true, at least notin this country at this time. Reading various reviews andmagazines, it is apparent that most new authors (at least the newauthors that are paid attention in reviews and magazines) are youngauthors, and they are good-looking, cool, and have some amount ofconnection. Those that don't have a relative or family friend somewherein the publishing industry are graduates of elite professional programswith MFAs from Iowa or Columbia. I don't have any ins, I won't beyoung for all that much longer, and I have neither the money or inclinationto move far away from my friends and my boyfriend and my new home cityto once again be a student working towards an unemployable degree(although, give me a few more years of dumb desk jobs, and I may feeldifferently).
Anyway, I was delighted to find the following email from Alex in my inbox this morning:
Dear god. I don't know if and how you got through it.
I was scarcely past the first paragraph, and already it was too hard to
continue--knowing how much you must want to stab him (and perhaps yourself)
in the face.
The headline is the worst part: perhaps you shouldn't "hate him because he's
young, good-looking, privileged, and impeccably connected." But you should
hate the fact that they left out 'therefore' before the phrase "about to
publish his second novel."
PS all your other friends from high school sucked, and i assume he's the
same way.
--Alex
I love Alex. I also love the fact that, at least without thesubject heading, it kind of seems like he is addressing me asgod. Alex briefly met some people I knew in high school, Nickincluded, and he is right: almost everyone I knew in high school was anasshole (myself included)-- not just jerks, either, the way mostteenagers are, but just a bunch of assholes. Anyway, I should saythat Nick was never an asshole, at least not to me. He's alwaysbeen kind, decent, and well-manered towards me. As intolerable asthey come off in that article, both Nick and his brother seem likedeeply decent people. In any case, I've always found them veryeasy people to be around, and I enjoyed time spent in conversation witheither of them.
To be honest, I wasn't as rageful as as could have been reading thearticle. When I first found out about Nick's new novel, I wasdistressed, notbecause he was getting a book published and I wasn't, but because, inthe time since he wrote his (published) and I wrote my (unpublished)first novel, he had managed to produce another one, and one that (byall reports) demonstrates a progression in architecture andscope. I was less upset about Nick's book getting published (Imean, of course itwould. No surprise there. As long as he completed it, itwould be published.) than the fact that he had managed to completeanother novel. I had written about 200 pages of a novel, decided thestory I was telling was lousy and dishonest, and trashed the project,never writing the three or four chapters that would have completed it(it still would have been completely awful, but at least it would havebeen acomplete) I'd written a handful of short stories, but so haseveryone, so what? My thesis, of course, was the largest writingproject undertaken during my college years, but, of course, that wasn'tfiction, and lots of people write theses, so, somehow, that doesn'tquite count. I felt angry and dissappointed with myself for nothaving been as productive. If I'd been a better, more focusedperson, I could have writen a second novel, too.
So in a way, it is consoling to learn that Nick "wrote his new novel, The Third Brother,at the home of an acquaitance in Hawaii. . . during what would havebeen the second semester of his sophomore year," and that he didn't,you know, write it at the library, in between problem sets and papers,or at the bright end of an all-nighter, or during lecture, or in hisstinking dorm room on days when he was too depressed to get out ofbed. It is still incredeably depressing to realize that if Nick'skind of privledgedness is what is needed to produce books, then I haveabout as much chance as an ice cube in hell, but at least the fact thatI didn't keep up isn't entirely a reflection on my sorry excuse of a work ethic. Nick didn't strain himself too hard, you know?
It is a pretty gross article. The little aside that Nick isdown-to-earth because "he is on a first-name basis with every buildingand grounds officer we run into at Harvard" is-- what the fuck isthat? It is so obnoxious and condescending. Like, wow, heactually knows the names of the help, what a saint, let's give that boya ribbon, a shining model for the noblesse oblige if I ever sawone. Please. If I wanted to feel totally patronized I wouldhave tuned into the president addressing "working folk."
Of course, it was Ariel Levy, not Nick, who seems to think thatincluding the amusing anecdote about Nick actually talking to theservants would somehow make Nick seem more, um, down to earth (perhapspalatable to the masses is the phrase I'm seeking here). But Nickdoes himself no favors by proclaiming "I've had absurdly goodluck." Excuse me? Luck is having your manuscript pluckedfrom the slush pile by a sympathetic reader. Luck is finallygetting a story accepted by a tiny magazine. Luck is encounteringa teacher or mentor who gives you guidance. Luck is an unknownwinning a fiction contest. But being born into a family ready tosupport you, materially and otherwise, in becoming a writer and alreadyimmersed in the publishing world and having your book published by yourfather's good friend, that is not luck. That, my friends, iscalled having it made.
And it's why it's hard not to want stabbing some faces when Nick isquoted as saying things like "I'm worried about not getting a fairshake because I've had so many advantages." What? Nick, Ibelieve you have gotten a more than fair shake. Because you'vehad so many advantages. The only people who ever get "shakes" ofany sort, fair or unfair, are people who've had so manyadvantages. It's a little sad (just a little, no need to call outthe string quartet) when Nick says, "But I'm not worried I can'tdeliver. I know I can write." Of course, he can"deliver." Of course, he can write. But that is all that isasked of him-- not that he write well or compellingly; just that hewrites; just that he delivers the product. I don't mean to saythat Nick doesn't write well or compellingly-- in any case, I generallyhate arguments for or against how "good" any writer or written workis-- my point is that with Nick, his literary merit is totallyirrelevant. All he to do is be good enough. He doesn't haveto be great, he doesn't have to be good; he just has to be good enough,to deliver a manuscript that can be prepped, packaged, and sold. He's twenty-one and hearing things like Morgan Entrekin's (quitefrankly, embaressing-- for everyone) stupid statement, "the besteveidence of how good Nick is is that 27 publishers internationallyhave brought his book. . ." Um, no. That's great evidencethat publishers see Nick's work as extremely saleable; it's certainly anice thing for Nick that they think that, but it is not evidence thatNick is good. I'd like to believe that Nick is decent andintelligent enough to realize this. I certainly don't pity Nickhis success, which, by all accounts, he handles like a champ, but I dosometimes think about how warped one could become by being absorbedinto a world where, at twenty-one, feedback on your work is handed youin the form of a profit margin.
It's always impossible to know what's going on behind ridiculous,extravagant articles in New York magazine, which, apart from someevents listings and reviews, is the gossip rag of Park Avenue. It's a stupid, annoying article, prompted, I'm sure, by stupid,annoying PR rats. The article just barely mentions the content ofNick's books at all, doesn't give any reason other than the author'scelebrity why this man is worthy of a lengthy article. The authordoesn't make any claims that Nick is doing something innovative ordifferent in fiction-- that is not the point. The article isabout the fact that he is "young, good-looking, privledged, [and]impeccably connected." There isn't any pretense that the articleis about Nick's writing or even Nick as a writer; it is about wealthand celebrity and Nick as a Hot, Young Thing.
I'm curious how much of this ploy is Nick's doing. My guesswouldbe that it's not-- that he's just going along for the ride as the PR department has afield day-- but who knows. By the looks of it, the PR department has a newstrategy: instead of touting Nick as a young, amazingly talentedauthor, as they did for the first book, they are emphasizing Nick'sprivledge and connections as a selling point. The whole "don'thate him because he's beautiful" schtick they're pulling seemscalculated to piss people off. Of courseif you promote him as being rich and connected, people will think he'sdespicable. Reading that article, in which the nepositiccharacter of his success is trumpted as a selling point ('ooh, look howrich and powerful Nick's daddy is. Nick knows all these famouspeople: let's list them!' Please.), I had to think that the PRdepartment wants people to be driven up the wall by Nick, they want tostir up controversy. Controversy sells, and it sells to drivepeople up the walls. Marketing doesn't give a damn if readers arebuying the books just for a snicker, or just to satisfy their appetitiefor scandal, or just to feel better by seeing how bad it reallyis. Marketing cares about selling books. As a society, welove all the people we can't stand. Ann Coulter. RushLimbaugh. Dr. Laura. Howard Stern. ParisHilton. Bush and his entire administration. We can't getenough. We throw our dollars and votes after them. I'mbetting PR is betting that with Nick McDonell, we'll gladly do thesame.
I find the New York article extremely tacky, I am deeply envious ofNick's opportunities, but I don't actually begrudge him his success/fame. He's a fine writer, so why not him? There arecertainly cases of nepotism I find more offensive if not downrightdangerous: Michael Powell, Murdoch Jr., Saul Bellow's kid (who wrote awhole book "defending nepotism" from, uh, something). WhetherNick deserves or doesn't, whether he is great or he isn't, whether heis worthy or he's not, ultimately, is all besides the point. AsClint Eastwood says in Unforgiven as he is about to shoot Gene Hackman(in the face), "deserve's got nothing to do with it."
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Posted by hissycat at August 17, 2005 03:15 PM
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Comments
yikes. that photo is going to give me nightmares! talk about wanting to stab (oneself?) in the face!
but back to your dad and not having the heart to tell him about concert tickets:
i remember last year he asked if he should get sleater-kinney tickets for me, and i told him no b.c i would get them on my own. well, when i went to buy them they were sold-out.
later, when i told him that i wasn't able to go b.c i didn't have tickets, he seemed really disappointed and sad for me. i felt bad that i didn't take the tickets from him when he offered. just today he sent me an email encouraging me to go to le tigre while he's out visitng you in SF, and i felt bad when i had to write back and tell him i'd be in the philippines.
but i do love his concert-related emails -- your dad totally keeps me in the loop!
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