How Thick Is Your Bubble?

“As the new upper class increasingly consists of people who were born into upper-middle-class families and have never lived outside the upper-middle-class bubble, the danger increases that the people who have so much influence on the course of the nation have little direct experience with the lives of ordinary Americans, and make their judgments about what’s good for other people based on their own highly atypical lives.” -Charles Murray, Coming Apart: The State of White America, 1960-2010

I found that quote—from chapter four of Murray’s book, which is titled “How Thick Is Your Bubble”—via a New York Times blog, and I found that via How to Be Black author Baratunde Thurston’s Twitter feed, so I guess I’m already off to a rather bad start, bubble-wise.

I am one of the people Murray speaks about—born, raised, and lucky to have remained upper-middle-class, with zero lived experience of poverty, rural America, or hand-roughening work. I’ve eaten at an Applebee’s recently only because my sister has kids and lives in the suburbs; I’ve walked a factory floor only because my dad was the boss; I score no points for living in an economically and educationally mixed neighborhood because I am one of the white gentrifiers. I’m friends with a few people who were raised in evangelical Christian families and communities, but they’re all atheists now. (Wait! I was just reminded that one is now a Reform Jew.) I lettered in yearbook, and the only uniform I’ve ever worn was a teal polyester skirt suit required by the bank where I worked for six weeks in 1993, before I quit in tears and admitted to my wealthy, supportive parents that yes, fine, I wanted to go back to college. I have a master’s degree, a professional husband, no kids, and a sense of entitlement a mile wide.

Still, while my Murray-defined bubble is indeed quite thick in some areas (Nascar and military knowledge; “close friendships with people who don’t share my politics,” seeing as how my politics are firmly grounded in how I believe human beings should treat each other), it’s more porous in others (I’ve watched a whole lot of Oprah and Judge Judy, and I walked in my public high school homecoming parade—albeit as a member of Russian Club)—and still more porous in many areas Murray completely ignores in his efforts to paint a picture of “ordinary Americans.”

Murray writes as though being rural, white, Christian, and poor is not its own sort of bubble, as though everyone else in this country is living on the fringes of that center (and voting to spite it). And that’s a load of bullshit even when applied to admittedly privileged and sheltered people like me. Everyday city life, for instance (at least outside the most exclusive enclaves, which tend to be populated by straight-up 1 percenters, not upper-middle-class professionals) comes with a ton of exposure to other people–in good, bad, and chronically irritating ways–and opportunities that simply can’t exist without a certain number of people around to make them worthwhile.

Don’t get me wrong: I am privileged beyond belief, in both the academic and colloquial senses of the word. If I wanted to, I could choose to live in a neighborhood that’s significantly safer, wealthier, and whiter overall than the one I do live in, and I already choose to live in a safer, wealthier, whiter part of this one. My life actually is “highly atypical,” and I am grateful for that.

Nevertheless, here are 25 more questions for Murray and the “ordinary Americans” he speaks for. I can answer “yes” to all of them. If you can’t, how thick is your bubble?

1. Have you ever lived for at least a year in a city with a population greater than 1 million?
2. Have you ever lived without a car for longer than a year?
3. Have you ever lived for at least a year in a municipal area in which more than 10 percent of the population was not white?
4. Have you ever had a close friend of a different race?
5. Have you ever had a close friend who is openly atheist?
6. Have you ever been to a gay wedding?
7. Are any of your close friends gay couples with children?
8. Do you or any of your close friends have more than $50,000 in student loan debt?
9. To your knowledge, have you ever met a transgender person?
10. During the last year, have you attended a free public lecture, reading, performance, or movie screening in your community?
11. Would you and, if applicable, your partner and/or children be able to attend a different free public festival every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day, without traveling more than fifteen miles from home?
12. Have you or, if applicable, your partner and/or children ever been to a Planned Parenthood or similar non-profit clinic for affordable contraception, preventative health care, and/or STI testing?
13. Have there been one or more homicides in your neighborhood in the last month?
14. Have you lived for at least a year in a community with a visible homeless population?
15. Do you have a YMCA or YWCA within five miles of your home?
16. If, as an adult, you wanted to play a sport, take a dance class, or learn or a foreign language, would you be able to in your community? Would you have more than one option?
17. In the past five years, have you seen homeless people fishing in your neighborhood?
18. Have you ever patronized a fast food drive-thru that had a revolving window of bullet-proof glass?
19. Do you live within five miles of a mosque?
20. In the last year, have there been one or more newsworthy acts of violence at your local public high school?
21. Is there a public playground within easy walking distance of your home?
22. Can you travel a mile from your home on foot or by wheelchair or mobility scooter without running out of sidewalk?
23. Can you get from your home to a public library without using a car or spending more than $3? (How about an art museum? A sporting event? A beach? A fireworks display?)
24. Choose one. Who was Jane Addams? Or: Have you ever bought a tamale from a man who came by your local bar at 1 a.m.?
25. Does your state receive fewer tax dollars than it contributes?

The Death of Publishing and Ruination of Our Children, Part a Billion

This morning, my Twitter feed is full of links to an NYT story titled “Picture Books No Longer a Staple for Children,” alongside lots of sad and outraged commentary about it. I suppose I would be sad and outraged, too, if I actually believed picture books were endangered, but I see absolutely nothing in this article that suggests I need to worry.

In fact, here is what this article tells me:

1) There’s, like, a recession on or something?

2) A lot of books that get published don’t sell. Not exactly breaking news, folks. (And that alarming opening about books languishing on shelves and being returned to publishers unsold? That’s just how it works. Stores take books on consignment, and ship ‘em back to the publishers if they don’t move. There are plenty of reasons to deplore this practice, particularly if you are a publisher or an author [see Awlbiste's comment; it sucks all around], but it is in no way new or unusual. If it’s happening more often these days, well, see point 1. And point 3, actually.)

3) “[M]any publishers have gradually reduced the number of picture books they produce for a market that had seen a glut of them…” That line is pretty well buried in the middle of the article, but I strongly suspect it’s the most accurate summary of the situation. Too many similar products at one time flooded the market, after which the people manufacturing those similar products decided to release fewer of them. “Gradually.” During a recession. WHOA.

4) If at least three upper middle class parents in the New York area have been observed behaving ridiculously, it’s national news. Of course, that in itself is not news: stories about entitled, blinkered parents trying to prime their children for Harvard from the womb forward are just as common as ones about the death of publishing (/reading for pleasure/literacy/coherent English/proper spelling/western civilization).

Look, as a writer, an avid reader and a former editor, I am always bummed to hear about books not selling — whether it’s because of a recession, or a realization that the market is saturated with XYZ type of book, or the fact that most books never sell especially well, relative to the money and labor that go into them (which is why someone writes an article predicting the death of the entire industry about every fifteen minutes). I am also bummed out about the economy, and totally bummed out by the idea of hyper-competitive parents forcing chapter books on their pre-schoolers to better prepare them for the real world where NO ONE’S GONNA DRAW YOU A PICTURE JUST BECAUSE YOUR TINY BRAIN IS STILL DEVELOPING, MAGGOT or something. But I remain utterly unconvinced that that last one is a real trend, much less that it’s eventually going to make picture books go the way of Jarts.

And if you remove that threat from the article, all you’re really left with is, “[M]any publishers have gradually reduced the number of picture books they produce for a market that had seen a glut of them…” During a recession.

I think it’s going to be OK, you guys. I really do.

ETA: You should also check out this perspective from an indie bookseller.

Kindle love

fatospherecover1Man, I wish I had more time to update this blog — I had plans for this to be the fun one where I ramble about writing and publishing, instead of fat politics and feminist outrage. I hate that I have become the kind of person who Does Not Have the Time to Update Her Blog(s) almost as much as I hated becoming one of those “we appreciate every letter but cannot respond to each one personally” people. But I am both.

At least I can ramble about writing and reading a bit on the Powell’s bookstore website, where I’m guest-blogging this week. My first post, about the book’s title, went up today. Two more are coming (and Marianne is taking Tuesday and Thursday).

But what I’m thinking about now is inappropriate for Powell’s, for reasons that should be obvious from the post title: It’s about why I love my Kindle so damn much. And that reason is very simple: instant gratification. By which I mean instant gratification. I bought a Sony Reader a couple of years ago and loved the concept — 80 books in my purse at once! — but quit using it as soon as the novelty wore off, which was about 2 weeks later. Why? It was linked to the very limited Sony store, and I needed a PC to download books. Not a computer, a PC — the fucking thing wasn’t even Mac compatible, so I had to use one of Al’s computers. The Sony store has “tens of thousands of books”; the Kindle store has a few hundred thousand and counting. (And when I can’t get a book I want there, I can at least get the satisfaction of clicking the “request a Kindle edition” button.) I can get a book delivered to the Kindle with 1-click ordering from any computer, or wirelessly via the Kindle itself, if I’m sitting at an airport, for instance. (Last time I flew, I went into the airport bookstore as usual, but ended up writing down titles to download instead of buying books to lug with me.)

The truth is, I don’t give a shit about the design of my e-book reader or any bells and whistles. And I certainly don’t give a shit who makes it — if Sony or another competitor linked up with B&N or Borders or Powell’s or any other online bookseller, and offered the same purchasing options, my loyalty to Amazon would dissipate, if not disappear, instantly. But as it is, Amazon’s getting a huge portion of my book-buying dollars these days, because the Kindle is so damned convenient, especially when I’m traveling so much. The device is nice, but they didn’t do anything with the hardware that knocked my socks off. What they did was make it really, really easy to buy books and start reading them immediately, in as few steps as possible.

And given that I spend most of my life online, that’s exactly what I’ve come to expect. If I want information these days, I should be able to find it with a few search words and a couple of clicks. Buying a book for the Kindle is just an extension of that — yeah, I’m paying for it, but it doesn’t involve extra clicking or filling in my credit card info and billing address every time, and the books don’t take any longer to download than a PDF. It’s as seamless as web-surfing. And man, that makes a huge difference in my continued interest in using the product and spending more money on it.

I still love real books, of course. My house is full of them, and when I go to a bookstore, I rarely leave empty-handed. But the Kindle did exactly what technology is supposed to do — it improved upon the original experience, offering desirable extras I couldn’t get from the old version. Sony just didn’t go far enough with that — if I had to go wire up the Reader to Al’s computer, only to find they didn’t have the book I wanted anyway, what was the point? (If I’m going to be disappointed that they don’t have what I want, I might as well get out of the house and go to a bookstore.) Amazon gave me a reason to want and use an e-book reader, despite my abiding love for real books and real bookstores. Whatever issues I may have with them, they did what it took to change the way I read and make me a loyal customer. I’m happy to reward that kind of innovation and market savvy, even if I also wish they had some real competition for me to check out.

How Did You Find an Agent?

If you’re looking for tips on finding your own agent rather than just the story of how I found mine (which may or may not be useful, and will definitely be long), you should go read the following:

10 Basic Steps to Finding a Literary Agent

Miss Snark’s Archives

Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, and Literary Agents, which provides loads of 101 stuff.

Reading all that will probably take you at least a couple weeks. It’s okay, I’ll wait for you to come back. Because that advice leads us to my number one tip for writers looking to get published: Take the time to learn about the fucking industry. And that leads us to the story of how I got an agent.

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Giving It Away

Galleycat wonders what people think about Chris Anderson’s assertion (in a Wired article and upcoming book) that, as the internet makes so many things — from video hosting to software to terrific writing — available for free, everyone’s just going to have to suck it up and start giving shit away. Including the publishing industry.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Galleycat points to the recent success of Suze Orman’s book Women & Money, even after a million e-copies were given away: it just kept selling anyway, which came as a shock to many. Of course, Suze Orman has Oprah behind her. There’s that.

Here’s what I think: there is a time for free, and a time for charging out the wazoo. The challenge is figuring out which is which.

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