Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Memory Artists by Jeffrey Moore

I initially read The Memory Artists when I was fifteen, and it was the first time that I realized that contemporary fiction had something different and interesting to offer that the brilliant old books couldn't.

Which - and I must emphasize this before I get pelted with stones - doesn't mean that they're better. Or even a fraction as good. Or worth the paper they're written on. Or whatever.

What it does mean is that by virtue of being newer, they can act as reactionary commentaries of the times in which they're published. A current commentary of the universe as it stands at a particular moment. (Which is also a reason why I like television so much, should anyone care.) There are also printing methods available now that Homer couldn't really get his hands on. Books can include pictures, colors, different font types and news article clippings. The comprehensive view of the world has changed from now from back in the good old days, and we can be more connected to people half way around the world than we are with those next door. It's not to say that these 'bells and whistles' can't become crutches that novels lean on, but when these little tricks work? The results can be pretty cool.