August 16, 2004
Guest Blogger for the day: Friedrich Nietzsche
On the recipe for how someone can become a good novelist
The Seriousness of Craft
“Just don’t talk to me about natural gifts or innate talents! We could name great men of every kind who were only slightly gifted. But they acquired greatness, became ‘geniuses’ (as we say), by means of qualities, of which when they are lacking, those who are aware of them do not readily speak: they all had that diligent earnestness of the artisan, which learns first to shape the parts perfectly before it dares to make any great whole; they gave themselves time because they took more pleasure in making small, incidental things well than in the effect of some dazzling whole.
The recipe for how someone can become a good novelist can easily be given, for example, but following it presupposes qualities that we tend to overlook when we say, ‘I do not have enough talent.’ Just make a hundred or more outlines for novels, none longer than two pages, yet of such clarity that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes daily until you learn to find their most pregnant, effective form; be indefatigable in collecting and depicting human types and characters; above all, tell and listen to stories as often as possible, keeping a sharp eye and ear upon how they affect others who are present; travel like a landscape painter and costume designer; excerpt from the individual sciences everything that has an artistic effect when it is well represented; and finally, reflect upon the motives of human actions, scorn no instructive hints about this, and be a collector of such things day and night.
Allow some ten years to go by in practicing these various things: what is then created in the workshop can even be permitted out into the light of day.
But how do most people proceed? They begin not with the part, but instead with the whole. At one point, perhaps, they hit the right tone, arouse some attention, and from then on hit worse and worse notes, for good and natural reasons. – Sometimes, if the reason and character to shape this sort of artistic career are lacking, fate and necessity take their place lead the future master step-by-step through all the requirements of his craft.”
From Human, All Too Human Chapter 4, From the Souls of Artists and Writers, # 163
Read widely, think well, and write often.
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Recent Comments
Hi Bud,
This is so bittersweet to read. I wish U of Penn more than luck in tackling the collection and making an exhibit for the books. I can’t wait to see the store again. I used to work at Gotham (all too) briefly, from the summer of 2001 to the fall of 2002 when I was 19 and in school for illustration. The building, the books, and especially the people (I had amazing co-workers, plus some really lovely customers) have a special place in my heart. I’m was hoping the link would mention Andreas (Andy) Brown, the last owner of GBM, but no such luck.
I was going to venture a guess that if the old man you met at the store was a GBM employee it might have been Phillip Lyman, but my understanding was Mr. Lyman was notoriously well-read (and had substantial library himself) so I suppose he would not have been reading Dante for the first time when you met him. More likely it was one of our splendid customers. It happened more than once that one customer on the floor would ask me about an author or title and I would meet them with my perfectly hopeless stare ‘n stammer—until another customer that had overheard the plea would effortlessly proffer the desired answer or suggestion. I learned so much working there, from everyone, but was a pretty useless specimen while the learning percolated. One of the more useful employees (our resident poetry expert) recently got a shout-out over at the New Yorker’s book blog after being made famous at the splendiferous Kwik Meal #1 cart:
One more book nerdy bit before I cut off the nostalgia trip. The above-mentioned Marc was the first person to Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino in my hands; I read it up in the 2nd floor gallery on my lunch breaks (lunch from Kwik Meal #1, of course), surrounded by art books and Edward Gorey paraphernalia. That book took (and takes, I’ve re-read it many times) me so many places, but when I’m lucky it takes me back to Gotham’s gallery, by the 2nd floor window where the constant refrain of the gold and diamond sellers coming in through the window mingled with the dulcet tones of NPR from a radio bigger than a microwave and the smell of old paper—all unchanged almost more than a decade later. At least in my mind. It’s still one of my favorite books (and authors), ever. Marc also blessed me with recommendations of Wallace Stevens’ Palm At The End of the Mind, Moby Dick with the Rockwell Kent illustrations, and my first ever NYC apartment: a little studio over in Astoria, Queens. Everyone at that store was overflowing and generous with knowledge, stories and history.
Places like Gotham do more than provide fodder for sentimental blog comment drivel though; I hope the lessons learned from the ongoing troubles are shaping a new generation of booksellers and customers that can find ways to thrive. Bookstores don’t belong in museums. Wise men fish there.
– (JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)
on “Well That's That”
Best wishes for the holidays, Bud.
I used to work in the Pan Am/Met Life Building in Manhattan. I would walk over to Gotham at lunch and browse, browse, browse. Books were the only thing I ever bought on that stree. It’s a shame it’s gone. Thanks for the update for those of us no longer living in NYC. Atlanta is not so much a book haven.
Best,
Jim H.
– Jim H.
on “Well That's That”
Yeah, for all of our technology - which is great - I mean you and I are talking about this from two ends of the country - but there’s nothing like being there.
– Bud Parr
on “Well That's That”
