Kateri Tekakwitha and Experimental Writing

 

 

I don’t know how many people saw that the Vatican is canonizing Kateri Tekakwitha, or how many really care. But as soon as I saw it I got a bit excited.

Why? I’m not a Catholic, or religious at all. No, the reason I got a bit excited was because of the (to me) obvious connection to Leonard Cohen. And to me he’s a pretty big deal.

The thing that gets me is that even Leonard Cohen fans these days probably have no idea what I’m talking about. Because it’s not related to a song. It pains me to have to actually tell people that Kateri Tekakwitha was a central figure in Leonard Cohen’s novel. Yes, NOVEL. Leonard Cohen wrote novels before he wrote pop songs. Nothing wrong with his music, but these novels, specifically Beautiful Losers, are amazing.

Beautiful Losers is an experimental novel about three (I think) weird people, one of whom is obsessed with Kateri Tekakwitha. It’s such a scattered piece of writing that even if I had recently read it, I’d probably have trouble explaining it. I don’t have it with me, which is another strike against me even pretending that I know anything about it. But the impact it had on me left quite a mark.

This is such a huge, beautiful piece of writing and I can’t figure out why I’ve yet to meet a pretentious, over-educated Bachelor of Arts person who dealt with this novel during their studies. As far as I know it doesn’t even make it into Canadian literature course material.

After reading this novel, in typical pre-million-words-of-crap unpublished writer fashion, I imitated it. Of course I didn’t tell myself that. For a long time I was pretty proud of this disjointed piece of garbage I had turned out after being dazzled by Cohen’s experimental writing. This isn’t to say there weren’t one or two little bits that I still feel great about. But at the time I had the dumb idea that just because I had thrown out the rules, I was necessarily doing something new and shaking my fist at postmodernism. And yet it was such a postmodern novel! And that’s not even the worst part. I actually submitted it a few times before giving up and realizing that it was something, like any food product that comes out of an aerosol can, nobody should consume for any reason whatsoever at any time.

It was important to write all that crap because even though it was an artistic failure, it still got me to where I am now. And for that I’m greatful. But why does nobody in literature really consider Cohen’s novels?

This is part of the reason I don’t like late-capitalism all that much. I’m using that term to imply a kind of ultimate postmodernism, not in an economic or political way. Maybe post postmodernism. Beautiful Losers is a postmodern novel, but back then it seems to have actually meant something. There is no such thing as experimental writing anymore. Nobody wants to play outside anymore. Is it because of cynicism, like people doubt any lofty goal whatsoever?

Beautiful Losers was slammed by critics at first. So was Ulysses. The latter is STILL bashed by the unlikely tag-team of the overeducated cynic and the myopic cretin concerned with nothing but entertaining soporifics. I almost want to say this is a backfiring of individualism being taught in the wrong way. Any jarring stimulus seems cause knee-jerk reactions and nothing further. But without that jarring stimulus, that discomfort and discord between your sketchy mental map and that offered by a psychotic piece of writing, people will just become decadent and complacent.

By that I mean we’re told to be so baselessly self-assured in all circumstances that the good kind of questioning and doubt cannot occur. Why analyze a discomforting novel when you can just write it off as crap without being asked to qualify it? I still haven’t read more than one or two legitimately interesting or intellectually sound criticisms of Joyce. The rest is just “me uncomfortable, stimulus bad” response.

I’m not sure if any of that makes sense. I’m still sick and it’s late and the benadryl is kicking in.

Okay seriously, on that note, I’m starting to find it weird just how many people immediately tell you to drink (insert hard liquor here) when you have a cold. Dude. It’s not going to help anything. Get over it. Menthol does the same thing to your throat, only better, and doesn’t contribute to the dizziness, nausea, and headache a person with a cold already has. I mean it’s actually really weird that so many people throw that at you when they see you’re sick.

Maybe if they’d read a crappy, disjointed novel they’d have the critical thinking skills to actually question stuff before saying or believing it.

Just sayin’.

At any rate, check out Leonard Cohen. Leonard Cohen the novelist.