I think it’s pretty fantastic the way that Moore weaves together tidbits about animal mating habits, sitcom actors, scientific studies, and personal anecdotes—despite being seemingly random components—while remaining anchored to his theme of missing fathers. This establishes a rapport with the reader, as living without ones father is a common experience. The parts about animals and science interest the reader sort of like documentaries and news stories, the actors are recognized and acknowledged, and most importantly, the personal stories make it all honest. It also helps keep the reader paying attention since it constantly switches topics.
I don’t have much more to say about that—it’s pretty straightforward. I guess I could note that the other piece, “The Atlantic Man” is quite possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever read. That’s notable, right? Nothing else has invoked in me so difficult to control a desire to headbutt the sidewalk after removing my eyes slowly with a wooden spoon. While covered in fire ants and hot coals. Duras might be a very accomplished writer, and indeed the way the writing flows suggests this, but I am obviously not her intended audience. Please tell me that this isn’t the essence of the lyric essay genre.
Chris “is not in a good mood due to non-208 related things” Garcia
P.S. I will grant “The Atlantic Man” a good use of artistic effects with the whole act of addressing nothingness as a director would a movie. It just doesn’t resonate and I haven’t the energy to dissect it.
I’m pretty spectacularly nerdy, and read ahead in our course packet, so I’m just going to say “Wait ’till you read ‘The Pain Scale’” in regards to your second paragraph.
I second the desire to gouge out my own eyes – this style of writing is far too esoteric for me at 1:15 am.
I read Tom’s post, and I hadn’t noticed the forward until afterwards. It makes the piece slightly more interesting. But I’d rather read more of the forward than more of Duras.
It’s possible that lyric poetry gets better with repeated readings, but tonight is this piece’s night.
*Not* this piece’s night.