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What Good is the Avant-Garde? A precusor to the virtue of Hopscotch and an Essay without a beginning
The problem with many novels labeled postmodern is that they often inadvertently profess a wish to get away from literary confinements. The true post-modern novel would not profess to be a novel- it couldn’t! because it would have no author. Where is the voice in this text?
Instead of the post-modern novel being boasted-ly post-structural or blatantly anti-structural, it would lie somewhere is the in between or completely outside of the reach of that cosmos known as the ‘literary realm”. It would be comprised of everyday speech patterns and words culled from machinic processes. It coalescent fragments, each w/ a distinct vocal style.
The fact of the matter is that once these fragments (which I have shored against my ruins) are placed within the context of the literary realm they automatically become subject to arbitrary discourse and alienate themselves from the casual reader. It is our duty to shore these fragments against the wish of the so-called “literary realms” which seeks to limit the possibilities of communication to just a pre-determined state/idea/process of cohesion. It is our duty so shore these fragments, to kill the idea of one, single, authorial voice, that struggles and continues, and will continue to struggle to find meaning in nothing and everything that it perceives.
Again, again we are calling for a death to the authorial voice, a voice that will always, always be faulty but fails forever to recognize this, as does the reader. The insipid authorial/literary voice which struggles to find or create meaning by giving straight-forward, logical answers to its so-called “problems” over and over and over and over again.
We must destroy the baroque palace known as the novel, or as the insipid memoir. Do not take this as a heartless gesture, or proof of the unfeeling video game reality known today as the Information Age. This call for the annexation of the voice of the author is a way to get rid of this unnecessary narrative we all give to ourselves, limiting what we perceive as our capabilities. What we need is an intermingling of all the senses and the thought processes on everyone- not clashing - but a smooth finnegan’s wake.
What we need is the immediate sensory gratification culled from “experience”. The avant-garde should be ever-present and omnipresent but not an imposing force. It should be the only force. The avant-garde experience is what happens once the author rids themselves of their narrative drive, or at least distracts themselves from asking such trivial questions as “what happened yesterday” and “what does this mean”.
The avant-garde should be the whole of experience, in such a way that there is no way to see outside of it- in the same way there is to be no authorial voice, but a collections of voices that cause the reader (i.e. experience to forget that they’ve ever a “one-soul”, a single-minded individual and not everything and anything all at once.