Ugh...
Have you ever read an interview and wondered how on earth someone of such questionable intelligence and charisma could come across as such a fluid and flawless speaker of the English language? Obviously, writers need to edit conversations to what closely resembles a coherent progression of question to question and answer to answer. No one expects or wants to see all the numerous pauses, "you knows," "I means," "ughs," and all the other unsightly flourishes that litter everyone's speech, even the most articulate amongst us. Even President Bush's most ardent supporters have to concede that his speech is nowhere near as flawless as portrayed in newspaper and magazine interviews. It's impossible for someone with such a notorious track record of verbal gaffes to come across as a "great communicator."

Which leads me to the following. In what has to be one of the most heavily edited texts ever assembled, Terry Gross, NPR stalwart and nemesis to those with a need for something other than an overblown cerebral interviewing style, has a book coming out featuring interviews from her show,Fresh Air . All I Did Was Ask : Conversations with Writers, Actors, Musicians, and Artists is the unintentionally funny title of her collection. Anyone familiar with me and my ongoing hostility and bitter dislike for Terry Gross knows exactly why I find this collection to be so stunningly funny. The book is listed at 384 pages, but if the publisher hadn't heavily edited these interviews, the book would probably rival Bill Clinton's memoir in length and might even surpass that tome. Include all of Gross' painful pauses and idiotic meanderings in an effort to sound curious and interested, and we're looking at the War and Peace of interview collections.

Gross and her inability to sound as if she even prepares for her interviews, is the main reason that I can't stand NPR for long stretches of time. Why? It's too painful even when they interview supposedly educated people. To really illustrate this point, listen to the BBC. In one segment, an interview with a writer from the Los Angeles Times about her recent time in Iraq. Embarrasing is the only word I can think of that adequately describes the interview. Embarrassing for American newspapers and newsmakers in general. I've never heard such a mangled mess. Broken speech from someone who traffics in the English language is a painfully harsh reminder about how lackadaisical our society has become with regards to speech, grammar and adequate usage. The next segement, though, featured a British commenatator, and the language was, of course, flawless. What's that tell you?

Gross thinks she can conduct an thought provoking interview by mimicing the off-the-cuff style of Charlie Rose. She's mistaken. Rose, who obviously knows who he is going to interview beforehand and is familiar with their work, comes off as being genuinely interested in his subjects, even if, in reality, he might not be all that interested. Gross comes off as a student who forgot to study for an exam and is trying to wing it. Her interviews seem to originate from a whole different planet, one not familar with standards of practice for conducting a professional interview. The fact that a book could even be cobbled together from her meandering interviews is a testament to the abilities of a good editor. Otherwise, she'd come off as the the poorly prepared interviewer she really is and continues to be.

Hard or Soft?
Laura Miller's The Last Word column entitled Paperback Writer broaches the subject of why publishers feel the need to issue every book they publish in the more expensive hardcover format rather than in the much more affordable paperback or trade paperback format. One recent book, David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, reverses the trend by having simultaneous hard and softcover versions issued.

Several aspects of the novel may have led the publisher to issue the two versions at the same time. One, the book is extremely popular in Europe, where it has already been nominated for the Booker Prize. The norm in Europe, though, which always seems much more sensible than the norm in the United States, is for publishers to issue what's termed a "paperback original" for many published works. I know this sounds like heresy and the machinations of "old Europe," but doesn't that make a little more sense? Miller mentions that writers dream of holding their book in hardcover format in their hands, not some crummy softcover. I guess there's some validity to that sentiment, but the fact is that the work itself is what matters, right? Who cares how it's packaged?

As an aside, I personally always liked the depiction of a writer in the Beatles song "Paperback Writer." There's just something really appealing about the idea of writing books for a living, and the song captures that perfectly. To me, it also sounds like the writer depicted isn't just some hack who churns out rubbish, as evidenced by his "thousand pages, give or take a few." He's much more literary, but with ideas to spare.

The second aspect of Mitchell's novel that may have been more appealing for paperback format is the format of the novel itself. It's not typical of a standard narrative, and that seems to be the trend for books to be published in simultaneous formats. Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves is another novel that was published in duel formats. Again, the novel wasn't typical with its changing fonts and other visual effects.

Ultimately, Miller advocates this type of nonstandard practice as a means to attract readers, especially younger ones who typically can't afford the prices for hardcover books. It also might encourage publishers to take a chance on writers who produce works that aren't typically formatted. However, writers shouldn't feel the need to abandon the narrative structure in favor of dazzling effects. If writers need to be reminded that the work itself is what matters regardless of format, publishers need to likewise be reminded that without readers who are willing and able to take a chance on reasonably priced books, then they're out of business as well.

Too Clever?
One of the most alarming trends in writing today is the emergence of a style of writing so overly filled with pop-culture references and soaked in its own overblown sense or irony and "pat myself on the back for being oh so clever smarminess" that the actual subjects of the text are lost in the mishmash. Two books, Sore Winners by John Powers, which focuses on life in the era of Bush, and Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto by Chuck Klosterman, a collection of previously published material that surveys the pop-culture landscape in a sort of scatter-gun approach, are two recent examples of this type of writing.

When writers produce works that are dense in language, absent of traditional narrative, and focusing primarily on larger ideas and concepts, critics often point out that the author does this intentionally in an effort to stymie the readers and make them fell lost, confused, and without any real clue as to what is taking place or what they're supposed to derive from these lanugos passages. In many ways both Powers and Klosterman operate in the same manner but with fluffier prose and inane references. The approach is different, but the intention is still the same: only people who are "with it" will "get" your work.

The problem with this type of writing is that there's never any room for breathing easier and dropping the pretense of trying to be "cool." Much like writing that struggles to chronicle the mundane aspects of narrative flow that just can't be avoided or spruced up significantly, these types of books are always "on." Every sentence is tinged with the above characteristics. Writers unfamiliar with the concept of overkill thrive in this fashion.

Klosterman is the worst of the two offenders, and I must confess that I couldn't stomach his work. A few sentences were enough to turn me off from consuming an entire book of his uncharismatic hodge-podge of forced Real World allusions, and his inability to just stick to the subject at hand without tangential excursions into media-soaked miasma. Klosterman is one of those writers, much in the same vein as Dave Eggers, who just happens to be everywhere right now. Where Eggers used a book as a springboard into journal and magazine writing, Klosterman apparently writes for every magazine that's willing to print his long-winded escapades into whatever pop moment that catches his fancy. Overkill is too kind a word for this type of over saturation of print. Klosterman seems like he's trying to ape the style of David Sedaris but he can't quite come up with the memorable, entertaining language that makes Sedaris such a better writer.

Powers, on the other hand, seems to know a little about maintaining his focus. Occasional references will be mentioned during passages about Bush, Cheney, or Ashcroft, but you still know what he's talking about. He seems to indulge more in references as adjectives and not just name dropping filler. Klosterman does the same, but he's nowhere near as skilled at keeping it to a minimum and splurges on the latter more than using the former with reservation.

The most troubling problem with this pop-culture reference as adjective writing is that it's destined to be dated. This leads me to wonder whether writers today are even concerned about the staying power of their work. However many years from now, mentioning Survivor or American Idol will most likely be greeted with a blank stare or bewilderment. Or, most likely, the books will languish on the shelves, unread, unnoticed, and totally without cache.