Baseball, like Whitman, gives me glimpses of what once was, scraps of history with varying degrees of relevance to the way we/they live now. Mostly it’s myth and symbol, lingering ideas and images that please but don’t do much to inform.
The music of Led Zeppelin is a thrilling, seductive, and ultimately dishonest reflection of an unreasonable form of masculinity.
— Over at The Town Crier, I answered Tyler Willis’s question about aging, identity, nostalgia, and Led Zeppelin as part of an “Omnibus Interview” of Puritan contributors who’ve released books in 2015. Big thanks to Tyler and all the Puritan braintrust for being so good to me and all authors whose work they continue to nurture and promote.
All of it suggests to me the role of fiction as a way of holding onto places, especially small, forgotten ones. To depict such places, and to populate them with characters, is to offer rebuttal to assumptions of innocence or cultural backwardness, of their being forgettable, simply because they are being forgotten by so many of us. It is to say that all of the things which make such places unfamiliar to urban dwellers are just surface. They mean very little. In these places, as in every other place, there is character, and story, and the ways in which people succeed and fail, and it’s all worthy of our attention.