On truthiness, propaganda, and the rise of fascism
Today’s NY Times Op Ed piece by Rich, “Truthiness 101: From Frey to Alito” (reprinted in full by Nevada Thunder) will be his last for a few months:
To my readers: Starting next week, I will be on a book leave, writing nonfiction about our post-9/11 fictions. See you in the spring.
Ah, me. What will I do without my regular infusion of Rich? Maureen Dowd may be the funnier pundit, but Rich is the more accurate marksman of the two.
Today, he draws parallels between faux memoirist James Frey and faux salt-of-the-earth, regular guy Sam Alito. He begins with an allusion to Stephen Colbert’s neologism, truthiness (thank heavens Rich knows the proper attribution for this word!) and moves on into more serious turf:
It’s when truthiness moves beyond the realm of entertainment that it’s a potential peril. As Seth Mnookin, a rehab alumnus, has written in Slate, the macho portrayal of drug abuse in “Pieces†could deter readers battling actual addictions from seeking help. Ms. Winfrey’s blithe re-endorsement of the book is less laughable once you start to imagine some Holocaust denier using her imprimatur to discount Elie Wiesel’s incarceration at Auschwitz in her next book club selection, “Night.â€
In reality, some bright lights out there really are suggesting that Wiesel’s dark, haunting Night is a fabrication. Let’s all thank Oprah (never thought I’d write that) for drawing attention to one of the best Holocaust memoirs ever written. But, back to Rich.
What’s remarkable is how much fictionalization plays a role in almost every national debate. Even after a big humbug is exposed as blatantly as Professor Marvel in “The Wizard of Oz†– FEMA’s heck of a job in New Orleans, for instance – we remain ready and eager to be duped by the next tall tale. It’s as if the country is living in a permanent state of suspension of disbelief.
He continues with an analysis of the fictionalization of Sam Alito’s history by Republicans and Democrats alike — even by Alito himself. For the fiction-writers in my crowd, however, Rich’s most resonant message comes early on (emphasis mine):
Democrats who go berserk at their every political defeat still don’t understand this. They fault the public for not listening to their facts and arguments, as though facts and arguments would make a difference, even if the Democrats were coherent. It’s the power of the story that always counts first, and the selling of it that comes second. Accuracy is optional.
Propaganda, that’s what it’s all about. Remember Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will? I can imagine Hitler (an unofficial executive producer of the film, according to Wikipedia) briefing Riefenstahl during the film’s creation: “Give ’em a story they can believe in.”
Fascism does not emerge from a vacuum. It thrives on nationalistic sentiment, which in turn depends on powerful and convincing propaganda. Bill O’Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, and George W. Bush wouldn’t exist if there weren’t widespread hunger for their message: that we are Number One, that we stand for freedom worldwide, that we are beset by foes on all sides, that the enemy lives among us. People want to believe.
But the message of Bush, O’Reilly, and Limbaugh is not for all Americans. As the recent ‘War on Christmas’ proves, it’s not Americans who are beset on all sides, but Christian Americans, and, I would argue, White Christian Americans. Those of us who are not Christian, or who are gay, Liberal, or have the wrong pigmentation, are left wondering: Whose country is this?
Hitler manipulated the German nation with the tools of fear and hate for many years before becoming its Führer. He had a simple message for his people: you are great, superior to all others; what keeps you down are those who are different. The Jews. The gays. Socialists, Liberals, Communists. Foes that live among us.
It has become unfashionable to draw parallels between the rise of Nazism and present day America. Some folks think it’s a non-starter, something which silences further debate (see Law, Godwin’s). I think it’s a conversation we must have if we are to avoid any further movement into Nationalist America.
For example, we should consider whether September 11, 2001 was our Reichstag Fire. Let’s ignore the many domestic conspiracy theories, and assume the official version of events is wholly accurate. Nevertheless, 9/11 led to the Patriot Act, our version of the Reichstag Fire Decree.
As a Jewish kid growing up in the 60s and 70s, I lived and breathed the Holocaust. I was taught — no, that’s putting it lightly. I was lectured to, berated, shaken like a rag doll, and made to never forget that we must never forget. Remember Santayana: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
Can’t happen in America? Remember the Japanese internment camps. Remember Guantanamo.
My wife, Karen, has a chilling angle on all of this: the Nazi analogy is inappropriate because Bush’s America isn’t all that different from business as usual. Compare President John Adams’s Alien and Sedition Acts to President Bush’s recent actions; we haven’t come very far since 1798. Add to that our record vis a vis American Indians, immigrant Asians in the West, slavery, post-Civil War oppression of black Americans, and the abuses under Joseph McCarthy, and Bush & Co. begin to take their appropriate place in American history.
Unfortunately, Americans are poorly educated in American history, never mind world history. It is no accident that our children’s education lags way behind other developed nations.
It makes it that much easier to write propaganda.
D.
Technorati tags: truthiness, propaganda, fascism, Frank Rich, Elie Wiesel, Holocaust, Bill O’Reilly, Rush Limbaugh,
Hitler, Nazism, Reichstag, Bush
Various and Sundry
The lovely and Demented Michelle is giving away two signed copies of Maureen McHugh’s Mothers and Other Monsters. Hurry on over and throw your name into the virtual hat.
Thanks to Blue Gal for cluing me in that the faux Alan Rickman and Mel Gibson now have competition from the Pope himself. Go, Joey the Ratz! Think I’ll ask Professor Snape to go say hi, and Bare Rump, too, if she’s up to it. (Note added: done and done. They both replied to His Holiness’s Holy Sweat post.)
In the last few days, Fanatic Cook has written several fine posts about the value of omega-3 fatty acids and the hazards of getting them from fish, mercury levels in fish and shellfish, and alternate sources of omega-3s. Since one of my New Years resolutions is to lose weight and eat healthier, I greatly appreciated Fanatic’s posts.
As long as I’m in “public service announcement” mode, please be on the lookout for the following wanted criminal. If you decide to attempt a citizen’s arrest, please be warned: he doesn’t go anywhere without a small army of dark-suited thugs.
From glassgiant.com.
D.
Early for Valentine’s Day, but I’m not complaining
Coming soon from fabu romance publishing company Glassgiant.com:
Gee — thanks, Kate!
It’s only fair to mention that Kate found the site from Merry. By the way, as flattered as I am to have Summer write a whole novel about me, I’m not sure I understand the back cover.
At least I’m still above Creationists.
D.
Woo-hoo! I totally rock with the ladies!
Think about it. You always knew I was Kirk. Consider the similarities:
Kirk: wears a hairpiece.
Doug: needs a hairpiece.
Kirk: prefers to be the center of attention.
Doug: ditto.
Kirk: hammy enough to appear with Ricardo Montalban and still be the hammiest actor present.
Doug: in first grade, I owned the role of Chicken Little.
(Shaking fist: “Skyyyyyyy!”)
Kirk: made women, humans and green-skinned aliens alike, melt out of their spandex costumes.
Doug: just give me a chance!
Yeah, I could go on.
D.
Thursday Thirteen, a day late
 |
Thirteen Things about Doug 1. For as long as I can remember, I have had difficulty distinguishing Thursday from Friday.2. I also had trouble telling my left from my right. My usual response was, “What difference does it make?” Fortunately, I learned the difference before becoming a surgeon.
3. I named my first frog Cyrus Molybdenum. 4. By the end of third grade, I had memorized the symbols for all of the chemical elements (103, at the time). Despite this Badge of Extreme Geekdom, I still had lots of friends. 5. My grandfather, a Polish immigrant, claimed he’d been born with horns. He often showed me the scars. He also claimed he kept a monkey in the attic, but would never let me see him. 6. Pre-1970, my favorite film was Mysterious Island. I can imitate giant bee noises to this very day. 7. At age two, I developed my first crush on an older woman. She was six, and I kept losing to her when we played King of the Hill. She wouldn’t let me stand at the top of the hill, ever. Bitch. 8. The first dirty joke I ever learned was the Gomer Pyle joke. 9. In the early years of elementary school, with the Apollo missions all the rage, I wanted to be an astronomer when I grew up. Astronaut was the conventional response. Later, after I’d read a bit of science fiction, I decided I wanted to be a cryobiologist. Nobody knew what that word meant, and that was cool. 10. I used to fantasize about the Men in Black long before it became fashionable. Sinister men in dark suits and sunglasses would appear one day in our school’s auditorium and whisper things to our principal. He would say, “Doug Hoffman? Can you come to the front of the room?” and I would comply. “These men say you’re extremely important to our nation’s security,” he’d say quietly to me. “They want you to leave with them.” And I’d say, “Heck, yeah!” This was well before the era of extreme rendition. 11. I also had sexual fantasies long before I knew a thing about sex. In one, I stood on a pier and noticed that the Girl of My Dreams was drowning. I jumped off the pier, rescued her, and carried her dripping body back to shore. She would revive in my arms and say, “Oh, you are so special.” The End. The fact that I didn’t know how to swim never entered into it. I was special, after all. 12. I haven’t wet the bed since age two, I never set fires, and I never tortured any animals, large or small (unless you count tormenting red ants). I am thus better qualified to be President than George W. Bush. 13. And yet I have never, ever fantasized about becoming President of the United States. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
D.
Editing: How I do it
Believe it or not, one of y’all emailed me questions about writing. Me. The guy who has only published stories in e-zines and one, ONE, print mag, Continuum.
I felt flattered, and more than a little like a charlatan, but then I remembered how many books I have picked up and put down because of inferior writing. Why should I have to be a published author to pontificate, when so many published authors so clearly suck at their craft? And I mean suck.
Not naming any names, mind you.
Then I realized: in surgery, we do this all the time. Folks with no academic experience whatsoever publish “How I Do It” articles, because the rest of us enjoy reading about a different perspective. You don’t have to be Josef McBlough, III, PhD, MD from Haaaahvaaaahd to write one of these articles, and in fact, none of us private practice guys would listen to Joe McBlough because we all know he has residents to Do It. He couldn’t take a tonsil out to save his soul.
Before I launch into the How I Do It portion of our program, don’t forget to check out PBW’s Ten Things for Editing Novels, which includes links to Holly Lisle’s articles, and PBW’s article, too (her method is close to mine, with a few neurotic quirks on my part . . . more below). I haven’t read all of those articles, by the way, and I’m not sure I will. (Frankly, Elizabeth Lyon’s Can Your Novel Pass this Test? made me want to scream by question #2.) But, at least now you have a quickie link to other resources.
By the way, don’t forget to buy Renni Browne and Dave King’s Self-Editing for Fiction Writers. This is one of my most-thumbed resource books.
But back to my favorite subject (as Maureen likes to point out), me. How am I editing a 306,000 word manuscript?
I never meant it to be that big. Really. I blocked it out on three-by-five cards, wrote out a modestly detailed outline (by chapters, not by scene), began writing, and promptly strayed from the outline. Halfway through the novel, I felt like Wile E. Coyote did when he raced out past the cliff’s edge, paused, and realized gravity had something to say about all of this.
With my ending riveted in my brain — without that, I would have gotten lost — I plunged on, trusting my muse, and she didn’t fail me.
I’ll never be able to write a “fast and dirty” rough draft. Misspellings, grammatical errors, tortured sentences, and even repeated words caused me physical pain. Once I noticed them, they HAD to be fixed.
I reread every chapter after it was written, but by the time I’d finished the chapter, most of the basic errors were gone. Most of ’em never found their way onto the page in the first place.
As I wrote the first draft, problems surfaced which I knew had to be corrected. For the most part, I kept a To Do list for these items. In some cases, however, the problems were so irritating I had to go back and fix them NOW, DAMN IT! because the muse insisted.
Lots of folks will tell you this is bad, that you must work through until you are done and then go back to the earlier material. I’m telling you different: it’s far worse to piss off the muse.
This may have nothing to do with editing, but it has everything to do with my method. I had a real, live audience for this novel, folks who stayed with me to the very end. Knowing that I had to keep them interested forced me to focus on narrative drive and a steady increase in tension.
My audience kept me writing through the dark times. If I failed, I’d be disappointing more than just me. Jona, for one, would fly across the pond and do unspeakable things to me.
Working from my notes, I fixed what I thought were all of the major problems. Done, right? Hah!
I got twelve different-colored highlighters . . .
Just kidding. I worked from a hard copy and corrected as I read, circling problems, writing notes here, there, and everywhere. I kept a new log of Major Problems (65 of ’em, at last count*) which I did not try to fix right away. I tried to identify consistency issues, which scenes I would slash, which scenes were missing, what didn’t work, and what could work better.
That’s where I am right now. Simultaneously, I work from the edited hard copy, and I read/edit on the computer. I call this a read-through because yes, I really do read everything (I’m not just skipping down to the next circled word or underlined sentence).
I correct the 65 Major Problems as I go, but I also keep my eyes open for new problems I may have missed the first time through. Yes, I realize I could edit this to death, but I promise you: this is the last read-through.
Ach, I’m tired. I’d tell you what comes next, but I haven’t made it there yet. Wish me luck.
D.
*These vary from the trivial to the complex. For example:
39. Naka hunt: keep all the numbers straight!
44. Think about where to break into separate novels.
45. Change Mora’s name at the end (the janitor).
That #44, man. It’s a bitch.
Breakfast sausage
. . . the kind that come in links.
Pat brings us a spectacular link from the Space Telescope Science Institute/ESA. So many beautiful images here, I don’t know where to begin. Make sure you check out the Cat’s Eye Nebula. Here’s the Orion Nebula (per the site, okay for public use provided we give attribution to STSci/ESA):
In case you missed yesterday’s discussion in the comments, Mel Gibson is threatening to sue Mel Gibson. Head on over there and offer your support — and advice, too, if you happen to be a lawyer. Jesus’ General has lent a helping hand by reprinting a letter from an Angel of the Lord (Avenging, First Class) to the real Mel. Seems Jesus is none too happy with The Passion, and when Jesus is unhappy . . .
firedoglake gives us the latest in Bill O’Reilly photoshopping goodness. Think Chippendale’s.
Have you missed the fuss over Kate O’Beirne’s book, Women Who Make the World Worse? Ms. (I just know she would love that Ms.) O’Beirne’s diatribe against feminism is taking it in the pink lace panties over at Amazon thanks to the efforts of Jesus’ General, Crooks and Liars, firedoglake, and others. Even the New York Times Book Review (Ana Marie Cox in the January 15 NYTBR) slammed her book, although politely:
Feminism isn’t always pretty (see: underarm hair). Without it, however, Kate O’Beirne would have been unlikely to have this book published — and most women would not have their own money to waste on it.
Guess I should try and get some work done today. Don’t forget to watch Jon Stewart’s and Ed Helms’s taint routine over at Crooks and Liars, and if you missed my post yesterday on Fractales, scroll down a few centimeters and keep reading.
D.
Fractales: the ending (and rules)
Flora held the Critter Keeper up to her eyes, shook the cage, and clucked softly. “Li’l feller’s kinda cute.â€
“Not a chance,†said Bob. He peeled back the foil from his Big Mac and polished off the burger in five bites.
In the Critter Keeper, only a pink smudge remained.
“You can try again,†said Flora.
He patted his hands against his belly. “Yeah, better luck next time. So, Skinny — how would you like to make love to a fat man?â€
Her mouth twitched into a smile. “You mean it?â€
“I’ve been itching to see you in that Cat Woman outfit for the last three weeks.â€
“You got a deal, Doughboy,†Flora said, and plastered him with sloppy kisses.
In case anyone’s curious, these are the last 119 words of my short story “Sprouts,” which hasn’t sold, and is currently not out for consideration. I reserve the right to publish my own version of the story, which I completed in February 2005.
1. Read the whole story chain before deciding how you wish to continue the story backwards.
2. Write however many words you please describing what happens before this snippet. I recommend 150 words or less.
3. Post your contribution on your blog. At the end of your contribution, write “Read what happens next!” (or something similar) and hyperlink it to this blog entry.
4. Cut and paste these rules to the end of your blog entry. It’s that easy!
For those of you who are coming on board at the very beginning, rule #1 is irrelevant. If you’ve read this far, you’ve read the whole story.
You’ll notice I’m not tagging anyone, nor am I giving you a “tag so-many people” rule. If this is a crappy idea, I’d like it to die a natural death, without me flogging it along. Besides, if other folks think this idea is fun, it should take off on its own power — like the blonde joke.
Ready, set, go!
D.
Fractales: here’s the idea.
Remember that dumb blonde joke? It led me to realize the power of the internet*. As blog memes go, the blonde joke possessed humor, originality, and minimal sting to its host — all you had to do was post a bloody link, for heaven’s sake, and rave about the joke. Easy**. Consequently, like any catchy meme, it spread like wildfire.
But what did that meme produce? A single joke. I thought: you know, with a little extra effort, we might have had our own version of the Aristocrats gag, but it wouldn’t have been one joke — it would have been hundreds of them. Thousands.
What we ought to do is tell a story. Tell a million of ’em. It will be just like a story chain, only we need to start at the end, not the beginning. If you think about that fractal tree image, you’ll see the logic in this, since folks will want to follow the story forwards, not backwards. If we (the writers) work backwards, your audience will get to read the story forwards.
Of course, some of them will want to add to the story, and they will do so by continuing the backwards writing process.
I’m going to call this a fractale. Catchy, eh?*** This meme may die a cold, lonely death, but what do we have to lose? Go on, do it! Leave your mark on the tree.
Above, I will post the end of the story and the rules of the game. The rest is up to you.
D.
*No, really. Why must you always assume I’m joking?
**Not like some memes that ask you to name one hundred things you want to do before you die, your one hundred most favoritest songs, and so forth. “Item 99: I would like to finish this meme before I die.”
***A cursory google tells me that ‘fractale’ is French for ‘fractal.’ I don’t see anyone else using the term in this fashion.
Smell the taint
I haven’t blogged about sex in ages. Kate has shamed me into it. Blame her.
Jon Stewart had me in tears tonight. He played straight man to Ed Helms’s extended double entendre on the ‘taint in Washington.’ If I can find a link to the video tomorrow, I’ll post it here.
Here it is, at Crooks and Liars. Enjoy the taint — it’s there to give you pleasure, after all.
Hmm? What’s the taint? Oh, you know what the taint is — it’s the gooch, the durf, the chode, the grundel. Must I explain everything?
By the way: if the odd hand gesture at the end of that skit looked unfamiliar to you, don’t check the Urban Dictionary for shocker, especially if you’re the kind of person who is easily offended by graphic descriptions of off-the-beaten-track sexual practices. I’m warning you, don’t do it.
And if you do, I can’t be held accountable.
In other breaking news, CNN.com reports that an African grey parrot cued his owner in to the fact that his girlfriend had cheated on him with a guy named Gary:
The African grey parrot kept squawking “I love you, Gary” as his owner, Chris Taylor, sat with girlfriend Suzy Collins on the sofa of their shared flat in Leeds, northern England.
But when Taylor saw Collins’s embarrassed reaction, he realized she had been having an affair — meeting her lover in the flat whilst Ziggy looked on, the UK’s Press Association reported.
Ziggy even mimicked Collins’s voice each time she answered her telephone, calling out “Hiya Gary,” according to newspaper reports.
Having sex with some other guy in her #1 boyfriend’s flat? That is low. No wonder Chris Taylor has made certain that everyone else in Leeds (and the world) will know, and tremble at, the name SUZY COLLINS.
Can you tell I ain’t got bupkes tonight?
Feeling cruddy, whine, whine. All I want is to take a shower and go lie down.
See you tomorrow, fiends.
D.