Reclaiming romanticism from the clutches of Hugh Grant and the heteronormative paradigm.
Friday, November 12, 2010
D.F. Wallace is the shit
"The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in US life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. The anti-rebels would be outdated of course, before they even started. Dead of the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachonistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels. Real rebels as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations, of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh, how banal.”
I'm Cameron. I'm a political science/English double major with a minor in French at Central College. Every day I consider dropping out (not even officially withdrawing; just leaving), packing my car with snacks, guitars and books and just driving away to a town I've never heard of and getting this life thing started. I might like to be a journalist someday. I have a ukulele named Gretchen Vinci. I like naming inanimate objects. I'm really in to stream-of-consciousness writing, obviously. I'm really into romanticism which is what this blog is all about. I want to share bits of idealism with you as often as possible and hopefully help you to free the brave, wreckless god inside yourself.