Friday, April 17, 2020 — 6
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Peter
Kispert’s
debut
collection
of short stories is linked together by
characters who, in one way or another,
lie to their loved ones. These lies are
sometimes
huge
and
elaborately
maintained for months. The title story,
for instance, is about a narrator who
makes up a friend so that his boyfriend
doesn’t think he’s lonely. When the
narrator’s boyfriend gets suspicious,
the narrator hires an actor to pretend
to be the friend and meet both of them
for coffee. Kispert’s book travels the
continuum between harmless white lies
and the complete fabrication of one’s
own identity, prompting questions such
as what it means to be truthful, what lies
do to relationships and how lies shape
our own perceptions of ourselves.
The first thing that struck me about
this book was how hard it was to hate the
main characters, despite knowing the
often deep and serious lies they’ve told.
Though very few of them draw a strong
sense of sympathy from the reader, none
can be thought of as bad people. I imagine
this is due to Kisper’s shying away from
turning his characters into unreliable
narrators. Though many of the stories
are told in the first person from the
point of view of habitual liars, there is no
indication that the characters are being
dishonest to the reader. They’re usually
open about their flaws, so the reader feels
hyperaware of the characters’ thought
processes.
This method of keeping characters
relatable does, however, come at a
cost. A character type that is explored
frequently in this book is the compulsive
liar. Kispert attempts to introduce
complexity to the reader’s perception
of such characters by portraying them
not as someone who simply lies a lot,
but as someone whose state of mind is
comparable to that of an addict. Essential
to this goal is maintaining the reader’s
trust by avoiding the unreliable narrator.
This strategy is successful insofar as it
creates characters that, if not worthy of
praise, are at least worthy of sympathy. It
falls short when Kispert tries to express
the cognitive dissonance that allows
these characters to simultaneously
value their relationships while also
jeopardizing those relationships with
their habitual lying. Kispert intends to
portray them such that their lies aren’t
malicious. They’re just trying to salvage
their relationships, but fail to realize
that their dishonesty causes more harm
than whatever is avoided in telling the
lie. When told from the first person, they
seem to recognize this, but they can only
be sympathized with insofar as they fail
to recognize it.
The best example of this is in
“Rorschach.” The narrator is attending a
pseudo-therapy session with Noah, a guy
he’s interested in. Noah asks the narrator,
“How does that make you feel? That you
don’t feel sick?” The narrator then thinks
to himself and the reader, “I gave him
an odd look — what a stupid question. A
little mean, but I excused it. I hoped my
intelligence hurt him.” The narrator in
this case is too deliberate in his thinking
to be sympathetic. There’s no inner
conflict; he isn’t fighting his character
flaws, he’s leaning into them. The
narrator can only be as honest with the
reader as the narrator is with themself,
but for the reader to sympathize with
the narrator, the narrator needs to be
somewhat dishonest with themself and
therefore the reader. This puts Kispert in
a catch-22 where he can’t fully make his
point without breaking the reader’s trust,
so the characters come off as too self-
aware, too clear in their thinking. This
paradox is, of course, a huge part of what
makes the subject matter so interesting.
I think Kispert strikes a good balance
between these two poles, but ideally
there would be a way to circumvent the
problem altogether.
Another major theme Kispert works
with is how truth and lies are related to
homosexuality. The main character of
nearly every story in the collection is a
gay man, and their lived experiences as
gay men color how honesty manifests
itself in each of them. The book deals
with characters who have had to hide a
fundamental part of their identity, using
them as thought-provoking test cases
for the question of when, if ever, is it
acceptable to lie. This is exemplified in
“River is to Ocean as ____ is to Heart,” in
which the main character, Ty, negotiates
with himself his desire to be seen as
masculine as he cautiously comes to
terms with his homosexuality. This
creates an inner conflict that complicates
questions about honesty.
“I Know You Know Who I Am”
grapples with interesting philosophical
problems by grounding them in real
experiences and presenting the nuance
that emerges. Kispert is careful not to
spoon-feed the reader answers, and
instead remains agnostic on difficult
questions he doesn’t have the answers to.
Kispert’s book is worth a read and, given
that it’s his first, I’m optimistic about
anything he might write in the future.
Truth and lies in ‘I Know Who I Am’
SEJJAD ALKHALBY
Daily Arts Writer
BOOK REVIEW
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
A few not so famous last words
ELI RALLO
Daily Arts Writer
Sometimes, writing pours from
me— hours fall from my grip and the
practice renders me tranquil by way of
its leisurely, meditative nature. Poems
fill pages and characters in lengthy
plays and short stories begin to write
themselves— I can see the whites of
their eyes between the lines of a bright
document by the time I reach their final
words. Other times, writing reminds
me of an unending uphill sprint. Lately,
I’ve felt winded.
I digress.
J.K. Rowling wrote her way out of
extreme poverty. Sylvia Plath wrote
through seven years of crippling
manic-depressive
disorder.
Emily
Dickinson managed lively poems from
the bouts of self-seclusion. Hemingway
wrote through a first-hand experience
with both World Wars and diagnosed
Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.
I remind myself of all of these
literary heroes when I hit a brick wall
of writer’s block, armed with nothing
but my weak arms to knock it down.
It isn’t a helpful practice, but one I
fall into nonetheless. When all of this
happened, I told myself: I should write.
But I sit down with the greatest of
intentions and it’s not that easy. These
days, unless met by a deadline, I lack
the desire to graze my fingers over 26
letters on a keyboard and tell stories.
When I’m not putting pressure on
myself to be productive, I wade in
hot guilt. I’ve known for a while now
what I wanted to write my last piece
for The Michigan Daily about. With
circumstances, our writing changes.
Words are malleable. As it turns out, I
am too.
***
I joined The Michigan Daily when
my first serious boyfriend and I broke
up. On a December night, the brink
of a predicted snowstorm awaited
us as I walked away from a person
whom I thought I loved following a
hasty conversation in an Ann Arbor
church parking lot. I retreated to my
dorm room and tearfully submitted an
application to The Daily’s arts section.
I had put off joining any clubs for my
first semester of college, hoping to
get settled first. I craved distraction
and figured joining communities on
campus would be the remedy.
Someone recently told me you
have to let yourself feel everything,
especially the tough things. At the
time of the breakup, I hadn’t heard
this advice. I didn’t want to face the
tough things. So instead of facing any
strong emotion at all, I quelled my
bitter sadness by filling my life with
clubs and groups and obligations that
exhausted my days so I hardly had time
to dwell on love lost. The opportunities
I sought out to stave off my sadness and
self-doubt taught me, pushed me and
enthralled me. I stuck with them —
theater groups, three minors and every
writing opportunity I could grasp —
for all four years of my undergraduate
education. They entered my life
at a time when I thought I needed
distraction, when in fact I needed to
find myself. I wanted my ex-boyfriend
to envy my productivity and stacked
resume though my prospects were
no longer about him. The choices
I made both frustrate and ground
me. I am thankful for choosing to
join The Michigan Daily and other
organizations on campus — these were
good choices. But I needed to do it for
me and not for the approval of someone
else. Perhaps this crippling awareness
is proof of four years of growth.
I can’t pinpoint the moment I
decided I was going to dedicate my
life to writing. I do know that my first
article for The Michigan Daily was
published Dec. 12, 2016. It was about
my passionate distaste for censorship,
specifically regarding books — my first
byline. I remember holding the paper
in my hands in the lobby of East Quad.
I remember leaving my first meeting
in the newsroom and calling my
mom to tell her I felt like I was finally
“somewhere I was supposed to be.”
In the shadow of global
trauma, I am drawn to the
apogee of Midwest Emo — the
twenty-year-old heartbreaking
masterwork that is American
Football’s self-titled album
Sad world? Unleash
your inner emo
MIDWEST COLUMN
MAXWELL SCHWARZ
Daily Midwest Columnist
Sadness can’t belong to anyone.
To drown in the swell of sadness is
as human as breathing, even if the
thought scares us. At the same time,
our identifications with others,
with ideas, with collective identities
can trap us into shared traumas,
cornering us into communal misery.
The
agonizing
performances
through which we disgorge this
misery become communal, too. The
screaming, the hollow poetry. In
the shadow of a global trauma, I am
drawn back to these expressions —
to the apogee of Midwest Emo, to
the twenty-year old heartbreaking
masterwork
that
is
American
Football’s self-titled album.
In the mid-90s, something was
going on in Illinois. Whatever it was,
it made the youth there feel restless,
alienated and reflective. Bands like
Sunny Day Real Estate from Seattle
were emerging, drawing from sounds
like Nirvana, U2, Talking Heads and
Deep Purple to create an iconic, deep
emotional experience. They released
“Diary” in 1994 to critical acclaim.
At the same time, Mark Kinsella
and his brother Tim were bouncing
around Champaign, Illinois. They
put together Cap’n Jazz and released
“Burritos, Inspiration Point, Fork
Balloon Sports, Cards in the Spokes,
Automatic Biographies, Kites, Kung
Fu, Trophies, Banana Peels We’ve
Slipped On and Egg Shells We’ve
Tippy Toed Over” in 1995. It’s been
out of print for a long time, but the
raw energy it produced carried on.
Mike Kinsella initially harnessed
that energy in creating Joan of Arc,
a band whose sound featured dark,
multi-layered acoustics and soft
electronics. But then came Kinsella’s
American Football in 1999.
American Football has haunted
me for a long while now. The hectic
and thick guitar riffs layered over
distant, hopeless vocals create a
sense of nostalgia for something that
has never existed. The anti-rhythm
that most of American Football’s
songs drum along to is both
affecting and disorienting. Their
music recalls ideas and memories
that are aesthetically afflicted.
The near absence of vocals forces
listeners to make sense of the layered
instruments, to paint pictures out of
the sound. What emerges reaches
deep into the soul and tears your
heart out.
The band’s sound, with its
irregular time signatures, draws
on math rock. The songs American
Football produces are meant to draw
attention to itself, to break free from
convention and pattern. Sometimes,
songs will change time signatures
mid-song, like in “Honestly,” which
returns to standard time for its
extensive riff-driven ending, each
beat enunciated because listeners
easily cling to the pattern. Likewise,
American Football’s sound is heavily
influenced by indie-rock. Catchy,
almost-dreamy riffs are layered over
distant vocals. The lyrics are sparse
on most of the songs on the LP. It
isn’t so much what Kinsella is saying,
but rather the feeling created by the
sounds collectively, as the album
moves through a story of nostalgia
and the loss of innocence.
There are plenty of choices when
it comes to picking one’s emotional
poison. Why not have your heart
ripped out by Brand New’s “The
Devil and God Are Raging Inside
Me”
(or
even
their
woefully
neglected “Science Fiction”)? Or
maybe “Diary” by Sunny Day Real
Estate.
Weezer’s
“Pinkerton,”
“Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge”
by My Chemical Romance. All of
these are good options.
However, I recommend giving
Midwest Emo a try. The sound
is milder, the lyrics hit harder.
American Football’s careful work
in creating a gentle detonation has
led others to reach for the sound.
Modern Baseball, of Philadelphia,
was founded with a focus on the
sound of the ’90s. Empire! Empire!
(I Was a Lonely Estate) and Hot
Mulligan, both from Michigan, have
repurposed Midwest Emo and its
distinctive sound. Charmer, a band
based in the U.P., just released their
album “Ivy” as a quintessentially
Midwest Emo album.
The Midwest is so often thought
of as homogenous, as conservative
and contained. The Heartland,
surrounded by country and away
from the world of the coast. But
Midwest Emo is about breaking
free of those conventions, about
mashing things together until you
arrive at what feels most authentic
and honest. While quarantined, we
might all become suffocated by the
walls, contained by stay-at-home
orders. With nowhere to run, where
do you scream? American Football
feels that pain. They put it to music.
Read more online at
michigandaily.com