The Contemporary Nomad is where five authors talk with you, dear reader, about the important subjects of the day. Whatever we decide they might be. Read more 
W I G N A L L
I’ve been thinking about fame recently. With the exception of JK Rowling, there are no really famous writers today. Stephen King, you might say, though I’d argue he’s a brand name rather than a famous writer. Dan Brown? Well, we’ll have to leave that one to stew for a couple of years. Many other writers are famous within their own circles, but I have no doubt that John Grisham or Dave Eggers or Zadie Smith could walk down the street or travel on public transport unhindered and unrecognized. Yet the pursuit of fame is still part of what being a writer is about.
Fame’s a tricky beast anyway. All of us have a relationship with it and for most of us it’s an unsettling one. Writers and artists can’t help but envy the widespread adulation enjoyed by rock stars (Olen?) and film actors. Musicians and actors, meanwhile, strive for the limited but culturally significant fame of writers and artists.
And this is all happening within the context of a society in which fame itself is becoming devalued. An increasing number of celebrities are famous for no reason other than that they are, and children will tell you confidently that they want to be famous when they grow up – not a famous actor, musician, football player, certainly not a famous writer, scientist or painter, just famous. It’s become an end in itself, and has therefore become meaningless.
A few months back, I saw the psychologist Adam Philips talking about sanity. He suggested that our society has become so completely obsessed with fame, with materialism and the drive for success, that the only true art today is that created without a view to recognition. He cites poetry as an example, because there’s no money and no glamour in it. I don’t know if he’s right, but it’s an interesting concept.
At the risk of sounding precious, I use my writing as a way of exploring my relationship with the world. It’s a personal journey, one that matters only to me, so I shouldn’t care, should I, if my books aren’t reviewed or don’t sell in enormous quantities, if people don’t know who I am or book shops don’t have my titles in stock. And actually, a big part of me doesn’t care, but another part does – it’s like the offence you take at not being invited to a party you didn’t actually want to attend in the first place. I don’t want the limelight, but I’d like to have the pleasure of avoiding it, which is perhaps a greater vanity than those buffoons who simply want everyone to look at them.
So, those of you who write, I’d be interested to hear your thoughts. Is fame part of what you want, or recognition, adulation? And why isn’t it enough just to know that you’ve written something really good? What do we really gain in knowing that strangers have read our thoughts, or that they know who we are?
December 6th, 2005 at 12:55 pm
It’s weird, but fame – among other things – was something I wanted when I started this writing lark, but I’ve found myself increasingly shying away from that ambition. I’ll admit, when I started I wanted to be a famous writer. Now I just want to be a good writer. Published and left alone, that might be nice, even though it’s apparently a pipe dream…
December 6th, 2005 at 12:55 pm
If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to see it, did it fall?
Of course it did. But the question is, does anybody care?
Kevin, I admire your ability to (most of the time) place fame “over there” and your art “over here”, but I find it pretty impossible to do myself. I think it goes back to why you started to write in the first place–or why you started to do any kind of creative art. Myself, I wanted people to think I was smart, to admire me. And of course I wanted to get girls.
Only later did I “get” why the artistic reasons were important in their own right, but that doesn’t mean my original impulse disappeared.
I’m not talking about fame, not on the level we usually think of it, but it’s something similar. For a group of people to believe an image of yourself, which is based on something you’ve created.
I used to think I could survive without an audience, but I don’t anymore. Without an audience (and I don’t mean Dan Brown-sized), I’d probably run into a brick wall. Why work so hard on the words if they’re not being read by at least a solid, small group of admirers?
December 6th, 2005 at 1:02 pm
I doubt I’d write much without an audience of some kind because, well, if I want to tell stories for myself I can do that in my head – why go to the hassle of writing them all down? And yeah, it is kinda nice to have people you’ve never met saying they think you’re cool.
In some ways, I find it also helps me and the writing to avoid getting too sucked into the contents of my own head, knowing that what comes out has got to be understandable and enjoyable to others. Outside perspective, that sort of thing. Avoiding becoming too self-indulgent, which is a fate I’ll be happy to escape.
That said, I also confess to some disappointment at the lack of authors’ groupies. The illusions we hold…
December 6th, 2005 at 1:14 pm
The self-indulgence is a good point, Mr. Rickards. Forgot to mention that. If art–any art–is grounded in communication, then this is necessary.
December 6th, 2005 at 2:22 pm
Only for Kevin (as I’m trying to limit time spent in the blogosphere):
Just this morning, I went to buy a latte at my favorite coffee house and the staff told me that some “fans” had come looking for me, as I’ve been way too forthcoming about where I write in the mornings. The staff (bless their hearts) tried to protect me and swore that I worked there infrequently, but my would-be visitors were adamant that I said I was there almost every day, which is true.
On the trudge home, I wondered if I had created a problem for myself, but I couldn’t imagine reaching a level of known-ness — ugly word, but fame doesn’t apply — where this would be a problem. I do recall hearing that fans have made life tough for Rice, Grisham and King at times, and Cornwell has her bodyguards, but it’s inconceivable to me that I would ever have such a high profile. As John Waters once said of Baltimore, People think that if you’re still here, you can’t possibly be successful. (A paraphrase.)
A writing career is full of bright, shiny objects dangling over head, things you think you want until you have them. Isn’t the primary goal to write and make a living, so one need not do anything else? “Fame,” whatever it is, looks tempting because it seems to promise the realization of that goal. But, if it comes, it’s actually a by-product of getting what you always wanted and thus of little use.
The best thing about being a writer is that so few can be recognized. I did see John Grisham in a Washington hotel lobby once. He’s very tall. And I recently sat next to David Broder, perhaps one of the greatest political journalists ever, at a play. At intermission, I thanked him for a lifetime of work that has been meaningful to me. Then we talked about what a good Iago we were seeing. If someone ever recognizes me in public, I’d be happy for the conversation to go along those lines. “Nice books. And doesn’t this place have great bratwurst?”
December 6th, 2005 at 3:00 pm
Only for Kevin?
Oh dear, Laura….
But really, thanks for dropping by. And this is a good point. Because “fame”–however you define it–is completely abstract until it’s achieved. While on the one hand I long for it like any red-blooded American, in fact I spend my days inside, writing. And public events–signings, publisher lunches, terrify the pants off of me. They are the necessary evil.
So why on earth do I want to be famous?
I guess because it translates in my head to a luridly vast bank account.
December 6th, 2005 at 3:31 pm
And for you, too, Olen! But Kevin was the one who alerted me to the site.
Meanwhile: If you could get the bank account WITHOUT the fame, wouldn’t you do so? I don’t know if it’s true that certain indigenous people in the U.S. thought a photograph stole one’s soul, but every bit of journalism is a little . . . reductive. Even the positive stuff.
December 6th, 2005 at 3:41 pm
Hmm. You’re making me reassess all my reasons for being, Laura. A bank account with no fame does sound appealing. I’m with you that far. And I’m past the age of wanting fame to help me get laid.
But then does no fame mean no (or a very tiny) audience? Can we write our stories to a wall and be satisfied? Are fame and audience mutually dependent? If my goal is to be put on a level with Shakespeare (an artistic-critical goal), then won’t fame have to come along for the ride? The attention and criticism is important to helping one assess one’s own place, isn’t it?
December 6th, 2005 at 3:51 pm
Laura, thanks for breaking your embargo, and John, thanks for being the first to use the word “groupies” on this blog.
I read about someone (in relation to Dale Peck?) who was a bestseller but bemoaned the fact that he never met anyone socially who’d read his books. I suppose that’s the kind of fame we’re after as writers, to be read and known by the people we’d choose to socialize with, as opposed to the indiscriminate fame of actors and pop stars.
As for the money – there are just too many easier ways of making it.
December 6th, 2005 at 5:20 pm
John, there are groupies. But, not the kind you imagine.
K, I know you’re a creatue of debate, thought and argument but I cringe thinking that every line written here is keeping you from the next book. The three I have look so lonely. Then again, I love it when you throw a rock at whomever has there head the farthest above the crowd, crowing for attention.
I agree with Laura, going to the bank account without the fame would be ideal. I love having my work read, I thrive on contruction criticism but I a loathe situations in which this garners me undo attention. I generally cover up my inate shyness with bravado extremis and sarcasm.
Laura, you’re what I want to be when I grow up. You’re talented, intelligent and just plain nice. I wish I could be your behavioral protege.
December 6th, 2005 at 6:59 pm
Jen, you can be my protege any day, but I think that’s a raw deal for you. You’re blazing quite a trail for yourself.
What is fame? To me, it’s being recognized by name or face, two standards I seldom meet. (What’s really depressing is when I sign the charge card slip at a LOCAL bookstore and the clerk studies the signature, but has no comment. The only shop where I’ve ever been recognized by name was Origins, where I buy expensive anti-aging creams.)
Writers’ audiences will always be relatively tiny, with a few freakish exceptions. So if we’re talking about recognition within that context, the good news is — that’s not real fame.
But if it’s recognition we claim . . . well, guilty. At the same time, I’ve come off a year with a few harsh reviews and after much soul-searching, I’ve decided that I’m a genius. No, seriously, I decided that I wrote the book I wanted to write in the way that I wanted to write it. Furthermore, I’m lucky to have an editor and a publisher who stand behind me and support me in an active quest to improve and try new things.
Here’s the test of the writing life: When are you happiest? There are brief, junk-food pleasures in the external stuff — exposure, good reviews, awards, hotels with room service. Even money only goes so far. (Although a feeling of security, even if it’s just for the week, is priceless.) There’s nothing outside the writing life that’s ever made me as happy as the doing of it.
Although the tuna melt I just cobbled together in a house with shockingly low food supplies was immensely satisfying.
Finally — female writers don’t have groupies.
December 6th, 2005 at 10:57 pm
There are a lot of famous writers, not by google criteria or What Would Tyler Durden Do? reference, largely because they have global publishng companies and the supermarkets (Walmart, Tesco et al) behind them. You would recognize Tom Clancy in the street, or Helen Fielding or the JK.
Isn’t this more of a plea for recognition, longer reviews, better marketing by your publishers? Your peers know your talent, isn’t that fame enough? Try Lunar Park, easily the best piece of “modern” rather than genre writing this year (though there are some nice genre touches), as the subject is the fame of the author.
I don’t know, I’m not sure “fame” is the issue for contemporary nomads. Since when did a writer every get all the prizes? Or many of them? They’ve been making jokes about the idiot sleeping with the screenwriter ever since The Jazz Singer. No not Neil Diamond.
I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mother took me to see him in a department store, and he asked for my autograph.
Shirley Temple
December 6th, 2005 at 11:53 pm
I don’t know what Clancy, Fielding or Rowling look like. But I do live in a hole.
Your peers may recognize your talent, but they don’t pay your bills.
D’accordo on Lunar Park.
“Fame” an issue for contemporary nomads? Come on, Robin. Think back a few months to Budapest. Fame locally or internationally, it’s all obsession with fame. Unless we are who’s a nomad and who ain’t.
If this thread keeps going, Kevin might want to do a Part II.
December 7th, 2005 at 12:22 am
I spent quite a few years trying to go down the road of rock stardom but the bouncer never let me through the gate. I can’t say I was totally attracted to the fame side of things though; I was always more interested in recognition. Still, there’s nothing like getting up on stage and giving your all. It’s a big rush.
The creative urge never left me, and after following a convoluted path of artistic endeavours, I fell in love with writing. It has much of the same creative satisfaction without the hassle of being your own roadie.
Fame. Do I want it? Not really. I’d like to see my name on a book cover in a store, but I’m not really interested in groupies. I tend towards long term relationships, so all that hot teenage female adoration would be a little inappropriate. The satisfaction of good reviews–especially among peers–is something that could drive me, but I’d have to be happy with my work first. I see little point in being creative if I’m not pushing myself beyond my current limits.
What I want and what I’ll get are two different things. Publicity and marketing in the publishing world is changing and it looks like some self-whoring is now part of the game of being a successful (in terms of sales) writer. And seeing as I want to make a living at this game, I’ll have to play along. Where did I put my idiot’s guide to public speaking?
Enjoying the new blog already. Looking forward to more.
December 7th, 2005 at 10:00 am
Jen, you keep telling me about these groupies, but I reckon they’re like bigfoot. If you believe in them, the hazy figure half-glimpsed at the far side of the room could be one of them. If you don’t, it’s just a trick of the light.
Or an out-of-focus bear, of course.
December 7th, 2005 at 10:57 am
A lot of this is about how fame is constructed these days. And the further the thread goes the further we move from writing as an exercise in both paying the bills and sating the creative itch (and putting a marker down for posterity, or something).
Fame used to be a by-product of literary success, we can go all the way back to Dickens and Thackeray pulling in the pounds on lecture tours in America; these days literary festivals with Amis or Ellis or Patricia Cornwall are sell outs. But not major money spinners for the authors; these are just a necessary part of getting at the increasingly fragmented audiences. Like doing the do with the book buyers of the supermarket chains, and making sure that the new book is reviewed not just in the newspapers or online, but on television – on the Letterman show or the BBC. (Just think how rare that is. Then ask how many computer game designers get to be on the couch with Jay Leno or Jeremy Paxman. How many film directors. How many newspaper reporters. How many fashion designers. How many bloggers.) Writers don’t have to – as one these posts says – “whore” themselves if they don’t want to. But where does whoring start? Does it start with agreeing to do a book tour, or writing an article for Esquire or the Yorkshire Post, or does it start with calculation about the kind of book to be written? The language used. The depth aimed for? If you write within a genre, be it the terse world of modern noir, the literary novel, or chick lit, then isn’t it worth a bit of whoring to try and broaden the scope for sales? And if fame can help, why not? Otherwise it is grumpy writing into a void. I should know: I have a PHD in writing into a void…
But even Dan Brown can’t really compete with, I don’t know, Alicia Keys, when it comes to getting at some of fame’s goodies: the table at Balthazar, the suite at the Delano; an audience with the Pope (maybe not with Dan Brown anyway). But in terms of “fame” selling novels, just look at the spate of celebrity authors, Steve Martin, Stephen Fry, er Naomi Campbell, who saw their product fly off the shelves because of who they are, as well as a competent piece of writing. Fame does undoubtedly help shift units, which is a major concern for a writer; but if Dan Brown or Tom Clancy was sitting down with John Updike, Joan Didion and Noam Chomsky to talk about the modern novel the fame wouldn’t help much, would it?
Some people are good at selling their thing. Some not. In the end I don’t think its for writers to whine about fame; otherwise everyone will be at it. Whine about recognition, for sure. About lousy marketing. About Dumb Readers and Reviewers. Sure. Whine about the reality that book buying by the large chains is going through a nightmarish phase where celebrity autobiography, a limited list of no brainer authors, and the occasional breakout novel, seem to rule (Waterstones give books three weeks now, I’m told; it used to be six months. Think that’s right).
So: get famous, then write.
December 7th, 2005 at 1:56 pm
I ate at Balthazar last week. Does that make me famous? I thought it just made me like all the other wannabe tourists…
December 7th, 2005 at 4:35 pm
JR, the bigfoot anaologyis strangely accurate.
December 7th, 2005 at 7:02 pm
Fame is really the sense of self-fame isn’t it? “I want to recognize that I’m being recognized for something I did. If I’m recognized for something but I don’t know about it or rewarded for it, who cares?”
And why is it that authors are supposedly lower down on the fame totem pole (not in my book, heh heh), but sooo many people want to be published?
PK the Bookeemonster
December 7th, 2005 at 7:33 pm
[[And why is it that authors are supposedly lower down on the fame totem pole (not in my book, heh heh), but sooo many people want to be published?]]
I think it’s a matter of perceived DIY, PK. Most folks recognize that they aren’t like Jennifer Lopez or George Clooney — they’re not fabulously good looking, they don’t have an agent and an entourage, no one wants to see them naked. So they can never be a *real* star. But a book? Hey, anybody can write one of those. All you need is a computer and a couple hours of spare time…right?
-Steve
December 7th, 2005 at 7:57 pm
It’s not so much fame, from my perspective it’s affirmation. I have a difficult time accepting praise because I am so goddamned self-conscious about what I write, so I am very self-deprecating about my own abilities. So, when I get a pat on the head and a “well done, Tribe” I can just wag my tail and hop up and down.
Well that and good weed.
December 7th, 2005 at 8:06 pm
My main goal with my writing is to be able to quit my day job. Since I’m so new to the game and my goal is still pretty unattainable, I was freaked out when someone actually recognized me from a local TV interview I did two days before my book even came out.
December 7th, 2005 at 10:45 pm
.
Wouldn’t you say we have it best though? We are only recognized by people we would care to be recognized by, and not by every second grade classroom visiting the farm?
December 8th, 2005 at 12:20 am
Tribe, you are an exceptionally good writer. This from a jaded reader, reviewer.
December 8th, 2005 at 12:29 am
Tribe, you are an exceptionally good writer. This from a jaded reader, reviewer. You’re worthy of far more than a mere pat on the head but you’re such a good boy.
Sarah, can one be a wannabe tourist?
I like Robin’s point about, essentially, the selling aspect of fame. There are writers who get their faces out there with their work a when most are home writing the next book.
Or blogging.
December 8th, 2005 at 4:43 am
Aw, Jennifer…you just like watching me hop up and down.
December 8th, 2005 at 12:47 pm
The ever excellent Popbitch has the following, which may or may not be a definition of fame.
“James Brown’s tour rider has an interesting request,
“Two girls under the age of 21 who are willing to
spend the night with the Godfather of Soul.”