Reading Between And Beyond The Lines: A New Book Club Without Oprah

Welcome to the first ever Contratimes Book Club presented by Semitartnoc Productions. This inaugural post in no way is intended to compete with the esteemed Oprah Book Club. It is a mere tangent to Ms. Winfrey's wonderful and well-drawn circle. Of course, I will NOT be discussing to any great extent Ms. Winfrey's recent attempts to win Frey, the shamed author of the dubious memoir, "A Million Little Pieces," which Ms. Winfrey had so gushingly recommended. Others have done so thoroughly. I point you to Ocular Fusion's two solid (as oak) posts on the matter (here and here), and the New York Times article published today. But I do gloat (such a sin, really) that Ms. Winfrey's Book Club may sway a bit under the weight of this small scandal. Please, forgive the pun (no, don't), but this means only one thing: Harpo gets bad marks (no doubt it would all Frey Groucho).†

Here at Contratimes Book Club, readers who attend our bi-monthly meetings shall be required to do something counter-cultural: they are required to do exegesis without eisogesis. Exegesis is the reading of any text in order to determine what it says, to "get out" its meaning, to discern the writer's intended message. Eisogesis (pronounced Ice-O-Gee-sus, which is not a chilly religious sculpture at the Ireland Winter Carnival), is the rather presumptuous "reading into" a text what a reader may wish to see therein.

You see, it is a rather common practice among those other kinds of reading groups to gather together to discuss, not so much the book-of-the-month, but how the book-of-the-month makes one FEEL. Scant regard is given to what the author's text or message might say or mean; to its veracity or accuracy. Nay, what matters is how the text affects the reader; what jostles the reader's mind, inspiring a torrent of commentary that may, indeed, have nothing to do with the book at all. What is looked for are springboards into dynamic and communal reveries; into a common experience bonding reader to reader without much bonding between reader and writer.

Of course, this sort of thing is rife in Western culture. Ask a person why he is so devoted to the lyrics of Green Day or FooFighters, and one will often receive an answer that suggests a real disinterest in what the songwriters actually mean. Read interviews between journalists and their subjects, be they poets and playwrights, and there is often a tossing up of the hands: "The piece means whatever you want it to mean." There is so much cachet in that sort of poetical mastery; that a work transcends the petty constraints of intent, purpose, meaning, truth. What it means to you is different than what it meant to me during the writing process, one might hear, but let us revel together that we have the shared experience of reading and interpreting it so genuinely and authentically according to our own needs and terms.

Thus, Oprah's defense of Mr. Frey's putative memoir offered when she called into Mr. Larry King's show, is sadly all too familiar (bold added for emphasis):

'...I feel about "A Million Little Pieces" that although some of the facts have been questioned -- and people have a right to question, because we live in a country that lets you do that, that the underlying message of redemption in James Frey's memoir still resonates with me. And I know that it resonates with millions of other people who have read this book and will continue to read this book.

'And, you know, one of the things James says in the book, for all the people who are going through any kind of addiction, is to hold on. And I just wanted to -- you know, I have been calling this number and it's been busy, trying to get through to say to all those people out there who have received hope from reading this book, keep holding on, because the essence of that, I don't doubt.

'Whether or not the car's wheels rolled up on the sidewalk or whether he hit the police officer or didn't hit the police officer is irrelevant to me. What is relevant is that he was a drug addict who spent years in turmoil, from the time he was 10 years old, drinking and -- and tormenting himself and his parents.

And, out of that, stepped out of that history to be the man that he is today, and to take that message to save other people and allow them to save themselves. That's what's important about this book and his story.'

Truth should never stand in the way of a good message. Of course, in this case the message is that the memoir is supposed to be true, which is wherein the redemption and hope lie. Redemption does not lie in fantasy; people are not redeemed by a story passed off as true that is in fact rather thoroughly false. People are redeemed and inspired by the real and true, the authentic, the historically accurate and the miracle of facts; and they are also inspired by allegories and novels and myths and legends that are well-known and beloved fictions. But no one is inspired by the breathtaking beauty of deception. Prevarication and mythomania should give readers pause; should give them reason for caution and scepticism, both essential for salvation. Alas, even Oprah's remarks yesterday on her show were an effort to liberate in the old way: The TRUTH shall set you free.

I have run several book groups, and I am amazed at how little interest there is in knowing what any given book's author intended in his or her book. One former participant (a leader in the Episcopal Church where I was leading one group) criticized me for caring too much about the author (G. K. Chesterton) and too little about getting to know everyone in attendance. Her advice was that books were a socializing tool to "build community" and not sources of truth and power. Her view was that books were like an hors d'oeuvre around which people gathered for fellowship; while my view was that books were more like an entree for nourishment or even a bonfire for heat and light. Sentiments rarely build community. Truth builds community. In fact, there has never been a holy site or village erected around a feeling. But there have been many holy sites erected around some event that is at least believed to have happened in truth.

So let me stop here and separate the wheat from the chaff. Do we read in order to learn something presented within these lines, or to learn something outside these lines? Is there really a narrative and a meta-narrative, with the meta-narrative trumping everything else? Or is there something literally present in words, sentences, paragraphs, that demands our respectful attention, begging us to die to ourselves for just one second, to hear an author's voice without the constant drumming of our own self-interested commentary? Is it enough to have a shared experience built around our own affections, without the solidity of truth and historicity? Does literalism not count for anything? If so, do we ignore something to our peril?

Contratimes

†Harpo is Oprah in reverse and is the name of Ms. Winfrey's business empire. Groucho (Marx), of course, was Harpo's brother. Lastly, Mr. Frey's name is pronounced Fry.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.