Dara Horn

I’m a fan of Dara Horn, but she’s wrong about this.

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Dara Horn appeared this week on one of my favorite podcasts, 18Forty. If you haven’t heard of her till now, Horn is an extraordinary Jewish author, journalist, and thought leader. She’s written several (often award-winning) novels and a non-fiction book (also award-winning), and I’m a huge fan. Since 18Forty’s theme this month is BOOKS! BOOKS! BOOKS!, Horn is the perfect guest for Rabbi Bashevkin to invite onto the podcast.

Her conversation with Rabbi Bashevkin is fantastic. (You can listen here.) She’s funny, erudite, creative, and I thoroughly enjoyed the entire episode. Only, there’s one thing she said that is so laughably, demonstratively wrong, I had to vent about it on Twitter after listening to episode to the end.

And now I’m going to expand upon the Twitter thread here.

What is this thing that Dara Horn said which literally cracked me up because her own work proves her wrong? She said that “Books don’t teach morals.” (If that’s not a direct quote, it’s close.) Afterwards, she said that fiction writers don’t write with the intent to teach a moral (a blanket statement). And that books aren’t good at teaching morals.

Horn accurately starts off saying that every work of literature emerges from a set of beliefs. Those beliefs are largely sociocultural, but may be unique to the book itself. It is necessary to understand them even if you don’t share them in order to process the book. But then she says that blanket statement I mentioned above.

The cover to John Gardner’s ON MORAL FICTION, a classic on literature, writing, and art criticism.

As John Gardner points out, “Art is as original & important as it is because it does not start out with clear knowledge of what it means to say.” So, sure, many writers do not start off a project with a particular moral lesson in mind. But that doesn’t mean that the finished project is not imbued with values. In fact, according to Gardner, it’s through revision, retouching, re-envisioning as we edit our own work that we figure out what we really think about its themes. The final messaging might be very different than the original take we had at the inception of the project.

Nor does no intent by Horn to write a book with a moral message mean that no author starts off with the intent to convey one. Personally, some of my work starts off with a moral angle, some of it doesn’t. But it always ends with one. I’m pretty sure that Frank Herbert intended to teach his views about the nature of power and the way human cultures interact with the environment when he wrote DUNE. Ray Bradbury had Things to say about literacy and book banning when he wrote FAHRENHEIT 451. Octavia Butler’s THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER had things to say about power and race and religion. I’m pretty sure that Lisa See intended to teach a particular view about the nature of love when she penned PEONY IN LOVE (she’s still alive, so we could at least in theory ask her). I might not be performing at their level, but I’m in good company on this one thing.

In short, Horn’s blanket statement–like most blanket statements–has so many exceptions, it becomes meaningless.

But there’s more to kvetch about (because, yes, this is me kvetching).

Horn seems to think that a moral to a story means a clunky message provided by an author who wants to tell you what to think. However, you don’t have to tell people what to think to promote a moral vision. Merely by inviting the reader/viewer/listener to explore a particular perspective on a theme, you have led them to alter their interior moral landscape. This is the best artistic expression, according to Gardner.

…And I would argue that Horn’s own work demonstrates several very clear moral views, whether she intends it as such in a conscious way or not. For example:

  1. By weaving (in most of her fiction) Jewish past & Jewish present, she assures us that religion & even religiosity is not a thing relegated to the past.
  2. By showing characters who are both religious & non-religious, and by showing them making flawed choices, she demonstrates that she doesn’t think that religiosity makes you good, at least not religiosity alone.

If I delved into each of her books, I could find other moral positions unique to her books. If I recall correctly, for example, in IN THE IMAGE, Horn expresses a moral view that people chose the religious life often for psychological reasons, not theological ones. But I think I’ve made my point.

Even the desire to say, “Books don’t have to mean things,” or “Books don’t have to suggest a moral perspective,” is paradoxical. Saying, “I don’t want to teach my readers a lesson,” is a moral stance itself, because it’s the position, “I don’t think that we should be telling people what to think,” or “I think that we shouldn’t look to morals to make life choices and certainly not artistic ones,” or other similar value judgments.

And then I come to the oddest claim of all, that writing isn’t good at teaching morals. Aristotle said, “Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and choice, is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good has rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim.” (Nicomachean Ethics, Book One, Part 1)

Before Aristotle, Jewish literature already included the mashal. A mashal is an allegory, a short fiction intended to teach a lesson. They pepper Tanach. One whole book (Shir haShirim/Song of Songs) is composed of a single mashal. Another book (Mishlei/Proverbs) is called by the word mashal (“mishlei” being one what to pluralize the word) and includes many of them.

Other ancient societies used epic poems and narrative songs to teach people, young and old. Eventually, these were written as books. While some were based on myths, historical events, or the like, others were purely imaginary. And they all conveyed value systems, intentional or not.

Today, we live in a contentious society. There are those who ban books or want to do so…and they don’t do it because storytelling is meaningless. They do it because storytelling can affect changes in people’s personal values.

I primarily (although not exclusively) write for children. In moments of choice, adults have told me there are times where they think of a beloved story from childhood, and the message therein helps them make the choice. We feel jealous of someone else, and then we remember reading a Mimmy and Simmy story (by Yaffa Ganz) about how each felt her friend had the better life, and then after a prolonged stay with her friend, she realized her life was just right for her. And then we choose to accept that our own circumstances aren’t really so bad. There are times when we might be embarrassed by our unusual name, or other qualities we have which are uncommon, and then we remember Chrysanthemum (from the eponymus book by Kevin Henkes) and are reminded that our differences make us special.

IN SUM: If Dara Horn says, “I don’t intend to write moral lessons,” I believe her (although I think she does it unintentionally…see above). But to make a blanket statement about all fiction writers seems to ignore a huge body of evidence that fiction writers often have morality as part of their writing agenda. And that thing she overlooks (the moral weight of fiction) is the very thing that makes fiction so powerful.

This story does not stop here!

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For the last week, I’ve been struggling with a major rewrite of a short story. Basically, the character was not so likeable, her journey was boring, and the ending was very, very lame.

The problems with my Lame-O story:

This was already the third or fourth draft of the story. I’d originally written it for a particular venue, who rejected it. Later, it was accepted for a different one, conditional on me completing a satisfactory rewrite.

The main structural changes the editors asked for were the removal of one subplot (and the scenes both where it was introduced and where it was resolved) and a new ending.

I cut out the subplot. No problem. I wasn’t entirely attached to it.

But still not done!

Now my story had a new problem Continue reading →

New Jewish year, new books by Jewish authors!

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The new Jewish year is marked this time around with several new book releases that have me very excited:

1) After being mesmerized by The World to Come and In the Image, I can’t wait to read Dara Horn’s newest, A Guide for the Perplexed, which was officially published today. An essay by the author appeared in The New York Times this week, reminding of the book’s release. The topic was the role of memory in literature — particularly in Jewish literature — which Horn tied to Rosh Hashanah. (The holiday falls later this week, and it’s also known as “The Day of Remembrance.”) Her new novel reportedly draws on this theme as it follows two contemporary characters obsessed with the work of the Rambam.

in the courtyard of the kabbalist

Ruchama King Feuerman’s latest, just out

2) Ruchama King Feuerman’s In the Courtyard of the Kabbalist follows an assortment of characters in Jerusalem. I’m very blessed that the author has sent me an advance copy — a review here on the blog will be forthcoming. I was a big fan of her last book, Seven Blessings, as well as some of her more recent, shorter work. Feuerman has been called “a Jewish Jane Austen,” probably because her character portraits so marvelously balance positive and negative qualities. I’m already a few dozen pages in to the new book and really getting into it. For a recent review, see here.

3) Ofir Touche Gafla’s The World of the End will soon be published in English. Continue reading →

From Michael Chabon to Dara Horn to Ruchama King: Literary Jewish writing for adults

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In literary circles, there’s much talk of the “new Yiddishists” movement. This includes writers such as Michael Chabon, Ayelet Waldeman, Nicole Krauss, Jonathan Safran Foer, Lev Grossman, and Dara Horn. All of these writers bring somethings of their Jewish identity to the page: Jewish characters, the Yiddish and Hebrew languages, allusions to holidays, midrashim, shared history, and the like. These writers are quite gifted…I’d highly recommend Krauss’s The History of Love and Horn’s In the Image for those who want to see spiritual introspection balanced with imaginative storytelling. However, their books aren’t “Orthodox”.
Many if not most of the novels published by Orthodox publishers were written originally as serials in magazines or by those used to writing for magazines. This is not bad–in fact I enjoy many of these books–it’s just a very different style of storytelling. Writing a serial for the first time myself right now, I can see that as fun as they are to read and to write, they are different. You have deadlines and word counts hanging over your head. You have publishers and readers who will be furious if you don’t complete the project. Readers want to see a lot going on in each episode, yet be able to keep the plot in their head from week to week. There are mashgichim at both the religious magazines and religious publishing houses who must be satisfied. For them, the message is considered at least as important as the form, if not more.
In the secular world, a novelist has different requirements. You need space for character development. Time to ponder and reconsider and revise. You might want to capture a wider range of emotions and topics than necessarily acceptable to a mashgiach. You might want to venture into experimental structure. You might want an audience beyond the religious community. The artful novelist does not necessarily thrive under the conditions usually found in the frum publishing world.
There are exceptions. Here’s one: currently, HaModia has an amazing serial called This is America. I’ve been following it for a year and am praying that it will end up in a novel form at its conclusion because I want to recommend it to all my friends. It’s THAT good. Also, Sarah Shapiro’s writing–though not fiction–shows a flair and precision of language that is rare in even the secular world. It often reads like a novel even when it is non-fiction.
In the past few years, the climate for Orthodox literature has changed. Interestingly, it seems to be occurring when secular publishers put out Orthodox books, partly I think because of the success of the likes of Chabon, Horn, et al.
For a couple of decades, Rochelle Krich has been a trailblazer in this department. Her mysteries are particularly well-written and substantive. I’d describe the pacing and plotting of her early books as the stuff of bestsellers, not the “literary novel.” However, her more recent Molly Blume novels have become increasingly literary.
Krich’s successors are finding their works in the bookstores and libraries across America now. Risa Miller has put out two prize-winning books: Welcome to Heavenly Heights and My Before and After Life. (I particularly enjoyed the later.) Ruchama King Feuerman’s Seven Blessings has invited comparisons to Jane Austen. She autopsies the shidduch culture of BTs in Jerusalem, yet does so with humanity, not scorn. Though not a novelist, the award-winning poet Yehoshua November also demonstrates that it is possible to be sophisticated in form and substance and frum.
I was extremely hopeful when I saw the website for The Writer’s Cafe, an Orthodox literary magazine. Perhaps this would be a format for Jewish writers to print more material “outside the box.” However, it appears that the project is at least temporarily suspended. I was disappointed at the news and hope it comes back. The new Ami magazine (disclaimer, my new serial appears in their “tween” supplement) also aspires to a different style of writing.
I’m hoping that readers will buy into this new model, because I think the scarcity of reading material that is “kosher” in the market right now drives more avid readers to read secular material that contains inappropriate language and ideas. I also see that improving the style of Jewish literature and its accessibility brings with it the opportunity for Jews to be a light unto the nations. Books like Seven Blessings and My Before and After Life bring healthy hashkafa into the lives of non-Jews as well as Jews who might not pick up a more stereotypical “frum book”.