Lee Irby's Blog: The Devices Will Struggle

I just recently appeared on THE NOT BORING BOOK SHOW http://www.thenotboringbookshow.com/2017/05/29/lee-irby-unreliable and had a blast chatting with two people who took turns praising UNRELIABLE to the point that I just became one addled blush. Angela and Stacy were adamant that they found me, that my publisher didn't arrange this--they were fans of the novel and wanted to talk to me. This is very flattering and very unusual. You might even call it organic. Whatever the case, I thank these two from the bottom of my black heart.

Since January, I've made three guest appearances on a web-based show called "The Rare Book Cafe." It's run by a dedicated group of book collectors, where I might be an awkward fit because I write new books. But the reason, I think, they have me on is because I genuinely love books. Not all authors do, strange as it seems. Many authors, most authors, are desperate to become a commodity, and most publishers are willing to turn the lucky few into one. But there are a few who actually fell in love with books and the love affair never stopped. These are my people, who treat books as treasured objects, works of art, valuable additions...and yesterday's discussion led to me wondering why authors began signing books--defacing them--as part of a culture of (undeserved) celebrity. I still don't know the answer. Signing books is both a great honor and a bizarre descent into the trivial--and signed books are not worth as much as unsigned, according to my collector friends, Food for thought.

This review (http://www.shelf-awareness.com/issue.html?issue=2959#m35765) pretty much changed everything about the trajectory of UNRELIABLE. It led LIT HUB to ask me to blog for them, which I did here (http://lithub.com/what-every-writer-could-learn-from-coaching-little-league/) and then other bloggers came a'calling, and it's just been one hootenanny. Tomorrow I leave for New York City and a book signing at the Mysterious Bookshop. I have prepared a talk on Poe and New York, which I'll post when I get back.

Of course there is also the serendipity of a complete stranger who reads your work and completely gets it--rejoices over it, lavishes praise, and forges the kind of connection every author dreams of. We can't discount how this site has also made that happen more than it ever did. Because for every misanthrope who gorges on trite pablum, there are literate, urbane readers who do seek out difficult works and then recognize what is special about them. These people might live outside Dallas or in the Dakotas but possess the drive to apprehend the world in its fullest complexity. These are the people who must battle against stupidity and laziness, and that they do so gives me hope that all isn't lost. So here's to the folks who haven't given up and continue to strive for the eternal.

When an author gets a bad review on a site like this one, which is filled with people who love books, the initial reaction, for me anyway, is rage, followed by disappointment and ultimately sadness. The rage comes from the simple fact that few people are in a position to judge a work of literature, and people who've devoted their lives to the study of literature know this most of all. Too many, far too many, reviewers on this site read absolute and utter garbage, and yet feel empowered to condemn works they don't understand because they never took the time or expended the effort to appreciate Kafka or Nabokov or Shakespeare. And that is very disappointing, to experience the dumbing down of culture, the debasement of beauty, which then leads to a crushing sadness. I don't read garbage nor do I write it. You may not like my book, but you cannot dispute its artistry because I have been at this since the age of 14 and have pursued beautiful prose with serious intent. Reviewers, do us all a favor and demand more of yourselves. Reach just beyond your grasp, as Poe advised us a few weeks before he died penniless.

Today UNRELIABLE is officially published, and mostly what I feel is the same befuddling nausea that led to the novel's creation. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled and proud of this book--it's real novel and I stand by its beauty (and its flaws). Even some perceptive reviewers have noted that this book doesn't feel like a "thriller," because it isn't. It's an actual novel, meaning it was always intended to be a work of art--but works of art can be funny and entertaining and beguiling. The nausea springs from the fact that in our "winner-take-all" world, success is often mistaken for merit. Complete hacks can sell 20 million copies of a bad novel and are heralded as prophets. I wrote UNRELIABLE to pull back the curtain and reveal just how intellectually thin most commercial fiction is. I do not expect to be rewarded for this, mind you. If you read the book, thank you. I tried not to let you down.

http://www.tampabay.com/features/book...

Colette Bancroft has an interesting article in today's Tampa Bay Times that reveals the trove of excellent writing (my book excepted) that is coming from this Tampa Bay region--Jack Davis might win the Pulitzer Prize, Lisa Unger is consistently outstanding--and it begs the question of how. How did this happen? And I don't know if there is a reasonable explanation beyond randomness, but there is a spirit of innovation alive and well here, fueled by a fertile mix of ages, lifestyles, ethnic groups, and environment--both natural and built. St. Petersburg especially is profiting from a tight-knit group of artistic leaders in every media, from crafts to opera--and we all live within a few blocks of each other. Our farmer's market is one of the biggest in the Southeast. Our breweries all flourish. Our theaters produce thought-provoking work. Our film festivals have carved out important niches. We're building new museums. New art galleries open each week. Maybe this isn't 1500 Florence, but it is enriching to live here.

Very excited that UNRELIABLE is getting much attention in the world of librarians, which means a great deal to me because my grandmother was a librarian from Greencastle, Indiana. She is the one who instilled in me a love of books, and my one regret in life is that she didn't live long enough to see me get a novel published. So any love I get from the librarian set absolutely delights me--these are the true book lovers who toil ceaselessly for the democratic ideal that our republic depends on diffusion of knowledge.

It's interesting today to consider the plight of someone like E.A. Poe, the author with whom I feel the tightest bond, since we're both from Richmond and both have fought to save dying careers. Poe tried anything and everything to stave off failure--it's incredible to read his letters toward the end and witness the tenacity, the confidence, and the dread. While he is remembered for inventing the detective story, it is the fictions in which he writes from the point of view of the madman that strike me as his greatest work. We ask so little of our authors today, beyond plot twists. We accept ridiculous endings, stupid acts of coincidence, bad prose--all of which Poe disdained. Above all, Poe hated moralizers, which is why he could give voice to those on the edge of sanity. I'm proud that Poe's fingerprints are all over UNRELIABLE. I wrote the book for him and him alone. Having it published was never part of the plan.