Ranting of a Twitting Twat: Silly Habits of The Novel

Novels take time to write and way more time to read. They take themselves seriously. If there is one thing they love more than telling stories it is teaching. Never mind that at different points in history, certain kinds of novels have come along and wailed, “Oh, teaching is for creeps. We do not teach. We do not care.  Read us for the nothing we offer you. We give nothing. So expect nothing.” Don’t be fooled. Novels are always teaching. They do not even have to mean to teach. They just do.

I hate to admit it, but they travel well and love to pick up new habits as they hop around the world. Achebe says as much in one of his many essays. Notwithstanding, novels always have a core set of values on which they never compromise. These values that help the novel stay true to itself are guarded by a strange clique of cemetery watchmen called literary critics.

Novels are stuck up. Everyone knows that. There are many reasons why, but I’ll only mention one…maybe three. The main character in a novel always has to be unique or different. Part of the crowd, but set apart nonetheless. Even when characters in a novel are ordinary, their ordinariness is extraordinary. That just about disqualifies most of us from having a chance at being characters in a novel. Doesn’t it? Of course, some of us like to think of our lives as cute little novels being written in realtime. But that, my dear, is one of the many necessary fictions of our lives.

Novels are at their most cheesiest when they worry about their age. I am yet to meet the novel that is totally okay with coming around, staying for a minute, and then disappearing. Every novel has the dream of becoming a classic. In the world of novels, money talks but so does shelf life.

Novel readers are far less interesting. They are members of a vanishing race who love shrink-proof stories. Stories that would not fit in a blogpost or a tweet or a Facebook status.

 

Tags: , , ,

I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

7 Responses to “Ranting of a Twitting Twat: Silly Habits of The Novel” Subscribe

  1. Ose 2011/05/27 at 22:18 #

    Really enjoyed this piece, well written as usual!

  2. Chibuzor 2011/05/27 at 22:55 #

    Lol! Ths is just beautiful and insightful. But then lets bring ths home to africa, where supposed fiction writers go investigated about the sad sad part of euery day africa, thusly there books are at best a mere flicker of flame, just a enough to win the commonwealth/caine prizes, and there you get it, most books authored by africans are more than oft. Stereotyped. But then there are a few exceptions, eg. The secret lives of baba segi’s wives by lola shoneyin. Etc.

  3. Sel 2011/05/31 at 16:04 #

    No fair Ainehi, if you want to look at it that way then, there is absolutely nothing that is anything on this Earth that does not teach. Intention is not even relevant.
    Even nothing teaches something and I just realizes that my mind cannot even conceive of nothing.

    See, I’m even teaching myself something just by typing this without meaning to mean to.

    For me a novel is an escape. Sometimes it becomes a trap though, especially when it forces/tricks you into contemplating something you did not want to. eg. Coetzee’s Disgrace (I do NOT reccommend that pretentious book)

    But do read Ngugi’s Matigari.

    We might be uninteresting – a vanishing race – but the final implosion will carry the world along.

  4. Ainehi 2011/05/31 at 16:30 #

    Sel

    I love ur comment. It has the seeds of what could well be a good response to Twitting Twat’s bashing of the novel. If u develop the comment into a short response I’ll be happy to post it on Brittle Paper.

  5. Sel 2011/06/01 at 16:20 #

    …and I love your blog.
    I shall see what I can scramble up.

  6. Ainehi 2011/06/01 at 16:40 #

    @ Sel,

    Email it to brittlepaper@gmail.com when you have it. Thank Sel.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. The Novel: A Response, an exhortation « In My Own Words… - 2011/07/20

    […] this as a response to Einehi of Brittle Paper’s blog post here, which he/she was gracious enough to publish as a guest blog […]

Leave a Reply

I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Archives

The 2017 Writivism Short Story Prize Goes to Nigeria’s Munachim Amah

13173450_1619200638400857_2469687830281826926_o

The Writivism Short Story Prize has gone to Nigeria’s Munachim Amah. He won for his short story, “Stolen Pieces.” He will […]

First Photos from the 2017 Writivism Festival

20819345_1994689334093219_6214976035878503585_o

The 2017 Writivism Festival just wrapped up in Kampala. It was held from 17 to 20 August. An initiative of […]

The Fall of the Gods | Chapter 1: ọ̀kan | Anthony Azekwoh | #TFOG

the fall of the gods (1)

  Ẹni tó ńbẹ̀rù àti ṣubú, àti dìde á nira fún un. Whoever is scared of falling, would find it […]

Wana Udobang’s Sophomore Poetry Album is a Sonic Book of Memories

wana udobang in memory of forgetting

Wana Udobang, popularly known as WanaWana, is no stranger to the Brittle Paper community. We’ve read her poetry, enjoyed her […]

Opportunity for African Writers | Submit to The Bare Life Review

barelife review

The Bare Life Review is a biannual literary journal that gives publishing opportunity exclusively to immigrant and refugee authors. They are […]

I Hear a Few More Things When Bob Dylan Says ‘a Hard Rain’s a-gonna Fall’ | Chisom Okafor | Poetry

33130808452_c617d33eb3_o

My father plays a song aloud on Sundays, that begins with ‘Where’ve you been my blue-eyed girl?’ We scream on […]