Andrew Gallix, a writer with roots in both England and France, resides in Paris where he established one of the earliest digital literary platforms, 3:AM Magazine, in the year 2000. His compilation of essays, Unwords, differs from the book he had initially envisioned, as he candidly explains.
He states that the original book he intended to write was a critical work that began in 1990. Although he secured a publishing deal for this book, it remained incomplete due to his inability to refine the manuscript to his satisfaction. He expressed his ambition for the unfinished book to encapsulate not just a variety of topics, but everything possible.
This “ghost of a book” lingers in the background of Unwords, and the concept of unwritten, unreadable books and those that strive yet fail to capture the full spectrum of the human experience (a fate inevitable to all books) permeates the narrative. It covers topics such as writers who cease writing, those who don’t need to publish to confirm their status, those who choose to end their lives or those who disappear into their writing or “evaporate into nothingness”.
Unwords contains amusing, easily understood essays discussing French philosophers, like Barthes and Sartre, underground culture in both France and England, and experimental writers supported by 3:AM. Additionally, it delves into subjects such as farcical pie-throwing, hauntology and spam literature. The narrative concludes with personal tales from Gallix’s period as a New York punk, a tribute to a lost childhood and in memoriam of Guy the Gorilla, as well as a touching letter addressed to his late mother.
Gallix, a modernist at his core, shows little interest in mainstream novels churned out by career-driven “professional” authors. However, Unwords strikingly telegraphs the life of Albert Cossery, an Egyptian origin author who died in 2008 at the age of 94. For over six decades, Cossery lived in the same Left Bank hotel, surviving off the royalties from his eight novels, without the need for a regular job. His well fixed, lazy routine consisted of waking up at midday, dressing up in his usual dandy way to go to Brasserie Lipp for lunch. Followed by a casual visit to either Flore or the Deux Magots, where he would observe passers-by with a nonchalant air. Afterwards, he would retreat for his beloved siesta. This routine was religiously repeated.
Today’s bustling cities of London and Paris hardly provide the scope for such leisurely existence. Gallix’s Unwords may not be the Gesamptkunstwerk he initially aspired to script, but it impressively encapsulates an incredible depth of knowledge, presented with a refreshing lightness.
Lauren Oyler has rightly claimed that “the depiction of trauma has become quite common in contemporary art”. Now on to Lauren Oyler’s No Judgement. While I approached Gallix with familiarity owing to my acquaintance with 3:AM Magazine, I was entirely unaware of Oyler. A quick Google search informed me of her being American, authoring an autofictional novel called Fake Accounts, and her critical review of Jia Tolentino’s celebrated essay collection, Trick Mirror, which has made her somewhat infamous. The blurb of No Judgement tags her as “adventurous”, “fearless”, and “argumentative”.
Reviewing her work seems like stepping onto a battlefield. Taking the plunge nonetheless, No Judgement comprises six intricate, extensive, complex and nuanced essays on topics ranging from gossip, vulnerability, autofiction, criticism, anxiety to Berlin, where Oyler resides. The city is currently a rather affordable haven attracting creative minds worldwide. Albert Cossery, if young, would probably have chosen to settle down in Berlin today.
Oyler possesses exceptional intellect, her judgements numerous and difficult. She takes arguments to unforeseen levels, adding a unique twist to fundamental notions. An example is her humorous piece on the corporate exploitation of ‘vulnerability’. Her unashamed snobbishness is invigorating, and she rightly posits that ‘depicting trauma is now a popular tactic in art’. Furthermore, she claims confessional literature can often be dull, and that ‘traditional novels’ featuring characters that differ from the author may not push the boundaries of literature.
However, much like Joyce Carol Oates, I sometimes deem autobiographical fiction to be ‘feeble shells’, tiring of authors divulging their similar personal turmoil. Her Berlin essay is the favourite of mine – relatable not only because of my numerous visits, but due to its touch of heart. I resonate with her depiction of the ‘sickening nostalgia’ when dwelling in a significant location but yearning to experience my home town as it was in previous, ‘more authentic’ times. This essay broadens the scope of the collection and acts as a consideration amidst an otherwise frantic collection.
In contrast to Gallix’s more traditional, European stance tinged with sadness, Oyler’s approach is more digital, youthful, and typically American, even with over a decade in Europe. Her verbose conviction is impactful, despite the wavering confidence and the vulnerability she rarely acknowledges. It’s evident both Unwords and No Judgement reflect the intellectual prowess of two authors; the choice lies in whether you seek stimuli for scholarly discourse or a direct challenge.