First, some background on the Collyer brothers.

So if you’re going to write a story (even a quasi-fictional) about this, of course one would feel obligated to do some research about the subject, so as to avoid to give the appearance of talking out of one’s ass, right? Apparently not.

(E.L.) Doctorow says that writing a fictional account of the Collyers’ existence required figuring out how to “break into that house” and see what was going on and why. He says that he didn’t do much research for his novel; he felt that the brothers required “interpretation, not research.” (Link)

Bullshit.

If you wanted to write a work of fiction, more power to you. I’m cool with that. But you’re using real people and real events to bolster the visibility of your fictional story; and you’re doing it in a dishonest, or at least amazingly disingenuous fashion.

The Collyer brothers were always on my mind. … Somehow the fact that they had come from a well-to-do family and had more-or-less opted out was the real mystery of them.

Never heard of compulsive hoarding, have we? This is not “opting out”, certainly not in the sense of choosing (voluntarily) to absent oneself from society. The DSM-IV currently has it listed as a type of OCD, but it may have it’s own separate diagnosis in the DSM-V.

Doctorow tells his story from Homer’s point of view, a character who he describes as “a very compassionate, sensitive fellow.”

“The issue for [Homer] is to create meaning out of their lives in this peculiar eccentric decision that they’ve made,” explains Doctorow.

These were ill men who died tragically. If you wanted to use that as a general springboard to write a story romanticizing the “eccentric” rich, (which I wouldn’t respect much either, but would at least not get so annoyed by) you can say that the story was inspired by or bears a passing resemblance to real events, but don’t title your book “Homer & Langley” and then ignore fact that they were actual people, instead trying to make them into some sort of floating archetypes.

Why yes, I *do* expect my historical fiction to be rigorously researched. (Even if you intend to go off in a different direction.) Presenting your lack of historical research as an artistic choice just makes me think you’re intellectually *lazy*.

The interview doesn’t touch on this at all, but I do have to wonder (with a blind main POV character and all) just how much research Doctorow put into being blind (and specifically loosing one’s sight later in life), or if he just “interpreted” his way though that as well.

Note should be paid to the commenters at NPR, who quickly do note that hording does not equal “eccentric”.

I think I’ve mentioned now and then my deep and abiding annoyance with the idea that art is only something “other” or “special” people do. Everyone is capable of artistic creativity (the medium and method may differ from one to another, but anything can be art if done well) and sidelining art into that other column forces all but that “special” few to view their own endeavors as something less.

What I don’t often give thought to is how such a dichotomy (unthinkable in my own family) could poison sibling and other family relations, and yet it often happens. One child is deemed to be special, and one (or more) is not. This, invariably, sucks.

In the second half of the nineteenth century we can watch other sets of siblings also become artists?W.B. Yeats and his brother Jack, the painter, for example; Heinrich and Thomas Mann; Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell. In the case of all four families?the Yeatses, the Manns, the Stephens, the Jameses?there was a dynamic at work that involved a struggle for power, or something like power, between siblings, a sort of fierce ambition within families for recognition and escape. In the case of all four families the parents seemed to shine a light on some of their children and leave the others to their own devices.

In these families where geniuses were nurtured, there were also damaged ones begging for attention. Just as the artists lived in the light, their siblings lurked in the shadows?Lily and Lolly Yeats, for example, who ran the Cuala Press… (link)

There comes a time in most everyone’s life where they realize that their idols are… less than idol-licious.

These people that I had admired my entire New York existence ? they all disappointed me. I don’t understand how people can exist in such a dishonest way and still call themselves writers. (nymag)

It usually looks somewhat like that, but I’d make the comment that the author is confusing what one needs to be a writer with what one needs to be a decent human being. (One can be a halfway decent writer while having not the least shred of humanity, and many’s the intellectual who’s gone that route.)

Collins, the confused stepchild of HarperCollins, grandson and last avatar of the venerable publisher William Collins, and relic of a more optimistic time in America – the year 2004 – died today at the age of 4. The causes were multiple: neglect, mixed messages, gluttony, and an epidemic of stagnation that has decimated American book publishing.
- Jessa Crispin

Personally, I think the publishing industry has been teetering on the brink of disaster for a lot longer than this. It’s been propped up by mega-stores, aggressive business practices, and “tentpole” bestsellers that covered for the sad fact that 90%-99% of everything in a modern bookstore is complete crap. Which is nothing new in the slightest, but if you’re going to hop around bemoaning the death of modern publishing, you’re gonna have to give me a better excuse than things have only recently gone to hell in a handbasket.

I say this as someone who loves books, loves reading, and has no problem with B level genre work; but authors are far too often getting paid to produce crappy books. When I was a young’n I had no problem paying for crappy books (genre and otherwise) because a) I could get four “stripped” books for a buck at the local flea market and b.) I did not have the internet. The internet gives me my fill of low to mid quality writing (and some stunningly high quality gems here and there) delivered right to my desk (and ebook reader) with perfect convenience, has the benefit of coming with a whole community of like minded folks, and is almost free. (Not counting the cost of the computer and ‘net access, which I’d be paying anyway, seeing as I use said computer and internet every single day anyway.) With that in mind, why do publishing companies seriously expect me to pay money to read work that I wouldn’t give a second glance in a fic community?

When I say crap work, I don’t mean that the story bored me or the characters failed to interest me (though that does happen). No, I mean grammar and sentence quirks for the hell of it. (You are not the second coming of William Faulkner, and even if you were I’d have a problem with turning a sentence into origami ’cause I hate Faulkner like burning.) I mean plot points appearing out of thin air and disappearing into black holes. I mean overuse of maguffins, slipshod research, editors with no spine who think that making sure there are no misspellings constitutes doing their job and 300 page stories expanded into 3 volume “trilogies” just because that’s what everyone else is doing.

I mean the only redeeming feature of the book being the jacket art. I mean mary sues all over the damm place. I mean cultural appropriation that would start a gosh-darn flame war. I mean sex scenes that would have posters questioning if the author was still a virgin. I mean battles that would have posters wondering if the author even knew which end of a sword or gun went in one’s hand.

I mean every single waste of a dead tree that makes me want to cry every time I walk into Barnes and Noble. (And let me note, the first time I walked into a mega-bookstore at the wee age of 17, I thought I’d reached the promised land. Not so anymore.)

Every time I see shelves laden with these modern publishing miracles, the only thought in my head is someone got paid to write this. Someone got paid to market this. How stupid do they think we are?. You wonder why the publishing industry is dying now? I wonder how it survived until now. Publishers need to stop whining about declining sales, ebook readers, and text to speech devices. Consumers can start screaming for better books… or we can take ourselves over to das internets and find the better writing our owndamnselves. Which, if you haven’t noticed, is what we’ve been doing all along. And it’s working out pretty well. Unless some huge sea change happens to happen, it’s what I plan on doing well into the future.

Once again, I’m unhappy with my web layout. (This is why I can’t get ink. I get tired of my own work very quickly.) I’m bored with the main CS theme, un-thrilled with the quickie freebie theme I grabbed for PPF, and yet I can’t seem to get motivated beyond the first steps. I’ve comped up basic layouts and gone looking for good source textures, but I haven’t had the magic moment where it all gels together and I just start working.

I’m in procrastination purgatory. Bah.