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Mark Twain in Boston, Ayn Rand in New York, Henry Miller in Los Angeles — whether they hated it there or loved it dearly, these authors had a lot to say about U.S. metropolises.
Read MoreMark Twain in Boston, Ayn Rand in New York, Henry Miller in Los Angeles — whether they hated it there or loved it dearly, these authors had a lot to say about U.S. metropolises.
Read MoreSkipping Don Herron’s renowned tour, two New Yorkers try to take a walk in Hammett’s gumshoes for themselves.
Read MoreOn the 14 Mission bus, two young dudes sitting in the back seat discuss a certain popular Madison Avenue-based cable television program.
MIRRORED SUNGLASSES DUDE: Dude, did you see Draper last night? When that old British dude just wailed on that other British dude with his cane? That was his son, yo. Like it was an ordinary thing to do...
Read MoreHipster-ish white guy and girl walking down 24th Street near Potrero, late on a warm Sunday night. The guy is drinking a bottle of beer, not brown-bagged.
SHE: Dude, did you bring your beer? Put that away.
HE: What?
SHE: Or, like, hide it or something. Don't be all waving it around. ....
Read MoreWhile y'all on the East Coast have been battling very real threats to your lives and towns, over here on the West Coast, we've been, uh, rioting about baseball. Overheard near 17th and Valencia, not far from two street fires, the night the San Francisco Giants won the World Series.
Guy: What the fuck, this some Occupy shit?
Cop: Naw, the Giants won.
Guy: Hate to see what happen when they lose.
Read MoreTwo twentysomething white dudes in Ray Ban sunglasses, walking by Dolores park, brandishing phones.
Dude 1: So if you know that E-Trade is $7 and Ameritrade is $10, what kind of trade would it have to be for you to...
Dude 2: Hold on, man, I gotta text this dude back. Are we going bowling?
Read MoreA group of young professionals waits in line at Bi-Rite Creamery.
(Teasing): "Look at her, rockin' that like 1987 flip phone!"
(Brandishing): "Yeah, I gotta admit it, I'm kinda proud of my flip phone."
(Defending:): "Hey man, nothin' wrong with that. She's thrifty. That's how she's a homeowner now!"
[Unintelligible financial small talk]
(She, being thrifty:) "Hey, you wanna live in the basement of my house? I'll give you good rent."
Image courtesy the author
The first day of Litquake, San Francisco’s annual literary binge, had some serious competition: on Saturday afternoon, the SF Giants were in the playoffs; Hardly Strictly Bluegrass drew hundreds of thousands to Golden Gate Park; the America’s Cup occupied the waterfront with 1%-ers; and it was Fleet Week, that quaint local tradition in which the Blue Angels tear back and forth above our city in a bizarrely irony-free celebration of America’s militarized cultural identity.
In a dimly lit room at the California Institute of Integral Studies, the thoughtful mood punctuated by the sonic rumbles of the Blue Angels, four writers of color gathered to talk about Rewriting America: Race and Re-imaginings in Post-9/11 America. This certainly wasn’t the Banjo Stage; things got serious, and political, and quickly.
“I am the new enemy,” said Francisco X. Alarcón, who identifies as Mexticoand is involved in the fight against SB 1070, the Arizona state bill outlawing cultural studies (and, effectively, literature by non-white writers). “Now that there are no Commies, they’re coming for people who look like me.”
Elmaz Abinader, a multi-genre writer who founded VONA: Voices of Our Nation Arts Foundation, the prestigious writing workshop for writers of color, began her reading of poems about Palestine with the observation that “America is the only country in the world where people run outsidewhen fighter planes fly over.”
Panel moderator Pireeni Sundaralingam read several selections fromIndivisible: An Anthology of Contemporary South Asian American Poetry, which she coedited with Neelanjana Banarjee and Summi Kaipa.Sundaralingam spoke of the difficulty in getting the book greenlighted in the face of publishing industry types who couldn’t comprehend that "South Asian American” writers are, in fact, Americans.
And Cave Canem Prize winner Ronaldo V. Wilson performed a chilling sound poem mashup: his own recorded voice recalling New York on the day the towers fell vs. his live reading of freewheeling poems touching on race, sexual identity, and class conflict.
Each writer discussed the complexities involved in existing outside of the mainstream in a country where people who look a certain way or practice a certain religion are now required to spend the bulk of their energy reassuring others that, as Sundaralingam put it, “We’re not terrorists.”
To end the afternoon, the panelists each doled out some quick tips for young writers of color — and for all writers.
On navigating the “establishment,” whether in academia or the publishing process:
“Go hard and strong on what you believe and don’t get pushed.”
—Abinader
“When they tell you no, you have to say yes. Don’t be so concerned with mainstream America; the gatekeepers will always be gatekeepers.”
—Alarcón
“Forget it — I’m just gonna make art … and let everyone else figure it out. [When I wrote my first book] I had an audience in mind: all the unusuals, all the freaks.” —Wilson
On creating a space for writers of colors within the larger literary scene:
“When you see other writers [of color] taking risks, support them — critique, publish, review their work, serve as their editors.” —Sundaralingam
“Everything you write creates a community around it. Go out and find it.” —Abinader
On the death of literary magazines, and the rapid disappearing act of arts funding in general:
“Think long term, invest in yourself. The institutions won’t survive.”
—Alarcón
“Defeat Romney. Keep arts consciousness alive. We can’t let this die.”
—Abinader
Great way to take stock of issues of race in the lit industry before what promises to be a week of copious — and often overwhelmingly white — literary scene-making in San Francisco. Now if only those damn planes would shut up, we'd be getting somewhere.
Images: Blue Angels photo via Paul Chinn, The Chronicle / SF ; Litquake logo via Litquake's Tumblr.