Literary Chicago

Anobium punctatum DeGeer larva, courtesy of Megan O'Donnell and Andrew Cline, California Department of Food and Agriculture and USDA/APHIS/PPQ Center for Plant Health Science and Technology.

When you consider the works of authors like Upton Sinclair, Richard Wright, Lorraine Hansberry, and Nelson Algren, it’s clear that Chicago literature has historically been known for its gritty realism. These days, however, a number of talented local writers regularly approach their subjects with a sense of wonder, magic, and otherworldliness—Patrick Somerville, Joe Meno, and Audrey Niffenegger, to name a few. That’s good news for Benjamin van Loon and Mary J. Levine, Chicago-based editors who have made it their mission to seek out such authors for their new literary journal, Anobium. Named after Anobium punctatum, the bookworm, their magazine will be published in print twice a year, each time providing between 15 and 20 writers, both unknown and established, the opportunity to share prose and poetry that is “strange, surreal and exceptional.” Anobium’s first issue is due out in July, and being, myself, a fan of the weird, I’ll certainly be in line for a copy. In the meantime, van Loon was gracious enough to grant me an interview.

What is it about the Digital or Information Age that makes so many of us seek out the strange and surreal?

There’s an obscure book by Jacques Ellul, a Christian existential philosopher (oxymoronic as that sounds) – ‘The Technological Society.’ It was written in the late 1960s, at which point we were on the cusp of the technical-evolutionary boom which continues even now to dominate the global ‘spiritual’ economy. Ellul talks about ‘technique,’ which isn’t technological matter as much as it is the ‘force’ behind the production of technology. It’s what drives us to innovate, improve, etc.

In so many words, Ellul says that we are at a point in history where technique is no longer subject to us. We are subject to it. Obviously, he wrote this in the 60s – so where does this put us now? If anything, we’ve sort of ironically let ourselves be overcome by it. That is, we are fully aware of our subservience, and it is precisely this slavishness which has allowed us to plummet into an age dominated by digitization, a surfeit of information. The Internet, for example, gives us a way to visualize The Mind/Spirit Hegel wrote about in The Phenomenology of Spirit, and all of the garbage online tells us everything we need to know about ourselves.

Meanwhile, there is another part of ourselves standing outside of this irony. The part of ourselves still thinking for itself. The subconscious, whose mystery is greater than deep space or the depths of the ocean. It’s the thing telling us that not everything is as it seems, even if we’re not sure what this means. In other words, we’re seeking out the strange even if we don’t know it. It’s the curiosity unstifled and the imagination of the Information Age.

Can you tell me a bit about yourself and your co-editor, Mary?

Both Mary and I are Chicagoans born and raised. She has worked on a number of ghostwriting and professional/technical editing projects, and I come from a somewhat similar ‘freelance’ domain. We’re both lovers of literature and dedicated to the printed word, despite our more ‘ordinary’ professions. A communal sense of romanticism, no doubt. This is our first ‘go’ at a literary magazine, but things have been coming along quite well so far.

Do you write DVD manuals? That sort of thing?

Mary has actually worked on a number of IT and Engineering Manuals – very dry stuff. I’ve not done anything as technical as that, though I have written a lot of equally as dry direct-mailing copy and ad copy. There’s nothing wrong with ‘dry’, but it’s nothing to write home about (pun fully intended).

Do you think there might be a connection between your work as a technical writer and your appreciation for surreal literature?

I believe that all writing makes you a better writer. The more you write, the better you get. There’s no magic here. When it comes to ‘professional’ writing (technical writing, copywriting, medical writing, etc.), the ‘ordinariness’ of it is already a suggestion of the surreal, because when it comes to surrealism, nothing is more strange than the ordinary. What was in the science fiction of yesterday is in a technical manual today. When it comes to strangeness, it’s simply a matter of perspective.

What made you decide to start a literary journal? And why “Anobium”?

I speak for myself here, but the idea of starting a literary journal was born out of equal parts aspiration and dissatisfaction. I subscribe to a number of different literary journals, but with the exception of a few, I am dissatisfied with their often grandiloquent and solipsistic content. In some cases, there are more names on the masthead page than on the ‘contributors’ page, an imbalance that seems to be tolerated by far too many. The purpose of a journal should be writing, not accreditation and self-aggrandizement.

Rather than reveling in my own criticisms, I thought to myself (in a typical American way), if I’m not happy with how others are doing it, why not do it myself? Obviously we aren’t so foolish as to think that we’ll get things done perfectly, but where’s the harm in trying? It’s the (tongue-in-cheek) Hegelian thing to do.

As for Anobium, Mary and I put together a list of 20-or-so possible titles, concluding that Anobium suits our idea best. The common ‘bookworm’ falls under the genus ‘anobium.’ It’s a simple analogy to draw. We like books. We like digesting good literature, usually figuratively, sometimes literally.

There’s been a lot of debate around the word “genre.” Last year, Columbia College Chicago’s Story Week Festival of Writers was themed “Genre Bending,” and many of its discussions centered on what, exactly, was considered genre fiction and why. You’ve said that you’re not interested in publishing genre fiction and, at the same time, that you like the works of Kafka, Borges, and Murakami – writers who are often understood to be magical realists. How do you distinguish between genre writing and non-genre writing that happens to contain many elements of genre fiction?

Good question. I wonder if it’s not similar to the intuition which is able to distinguish between ‘art’ and ‘pornography.’ You know it when you see it, they say. A photograph of genitals can be art or it can be pornographic. Where’s the line? The best writers dance precariously above it, having one foot in and one foot out. Aside from folks like Kafka, Borges and Murakami, a fellow like Adolfo Bioy Casares does this quite well, especially in ‘The Invention of Morel’ (one of my favorites).

Aside from this, it’s quite different when a writer calls himself a ‘magical realist’ or when others call him a magical realist.’ A label self-applied and a label given. Perhaps this is another way to differentiate between genre/non-genre. The genre writer is self-consciously attenuated to the strictures of his genre, willingly labeling himself as such (does Stephen King call himself a literary writer, or a horror/thriller writer?). The non-genre writer is perhaps more metaphysically or cosmologically ‘aware,’ or at least, he or she will go to greater lengths to incorporate this awareness into his or her writing.

Put simply, Anobium would rather read Adolfo Casares than Stephenie Meyer. If you look really closely at anything, you will see how one thing blends into another. Microcosmic vs. macrocosmic, and other false dichotomies.

How do you think Anobium fits into the current literary landscape in Chicago?

Chicago is a beautiful, brutal city. It has its own mysteries, fluctuations, glitches and patterns. It’s an organism, really. Though Chicago is (or once was) a major literary center, its literary-ness is determined by its patrons, admirers and lovers. In this way, yes, Anobium is ‘another Chicago literary magazine,’ but it likewise does its best to form an international connection. Already we’ve received submissions from places like India, Israel, Canada and London. A lot have been coming in from Chicago, too. However, in an effort to keep its appeal as universal as possible, we’re doing our best not to be ‘metrocentric.’ We don’t want to limit ourselves or our writers. Chicago is a hub, and we aim to be part of that.

What advice would you give to writers who are considering submitting to your journal?

Coherence is greater than quantity. Brevity is greater than circumlocution. The universe is as wide as it is deep. We’re not fans of sentimental memoir, that funny thing your grandma once said, or poems about ‘trees in the city.’ We are interested in the memoir of your future, a planet of grandmothers, an elucidation about the tree in your brain. Artful pornography?

What literary magazines do you read regularly?

I’m a regular subscriber to the Chicago staples of the Chicago Review and Another Chicago Magazine, and am often impressed with the erudition of the New England Review. I likewise enjoy the aesthetic presentation of Ninth Letter, though its content can sometimes be unnecessarily obtuse. My favorite review/magazine, however, is a small literary review/press out of Baltimore – The Shattered Wig Review. They produce some beautifully strange stuff, most of it running well under the radar.

 FUN FACT:
GIANTmicrobes manufactures a plush toy version of the Amobium punctatum, available for sale here.