by Peter Clarke
Gabe Congdon has a blast writing. You can tell that immediately. There are many great qualities to Congdon’s work, but the fact that his zest for life leaps off every sentence makes everything else icing on the cake. So even though I’ve never been a massive fan of the Renaissance, I knew Gabe would make it something special. And, oh my god, did he not disappoint.
How to Renaissance, Gabe Congdon’s new book released by Jokes Review, is for anyone—literally anyone—who appreciates the facts that life is awesome and humanity is weird. Because that’s what you get from Congdon on a sentence-by-sentence basis: a zest for life and a lot of weirdos—mostly painters, priests, and sculptors, along with a few warlords and poets.
Below is my interview with Gabe Congdon, where we discuss his new book, his unique writing style, and the creative life. To read more from Gabe, check out his story “Sandcastle,” published in the inaugural issue of Jokes Review.
Peter Clarke: When did you first develop a love of the Renaissance?
Gabe Congdon: Before I answer this question, let me just say real quick, that Joke’s Review is the shit. Their last issue was a manifesto issue and their current issues is a flash fiction one. Who else is doing that? They have a book series about non-fiction artistic movements and individuals. But most importantly they have style. As Sontag says, you gotta have style and JR does. Writers all across this green and brown world, all writers conform to the JR style. That’s what’s it's about; word is bond.
Anyway, It’s kind of how I put it in the work. I read a pop history book called The Feud That Sparked the Renaissance. All these names I knew about came alive. People used to be real characters back then. They were not only living gnarly lives, they were creating these pictures of incredible clarity. In an essay by the Late Great John Berger, Berg says we like the Ren because we like it’s clarity. It’s the motif that makes this epoch stunning in its bright harmony.
Tell us about your inspiration to write How to Renaissance.
I’d been toying with the idea but after two or three failures I was ready to set it aside. Didactic non-fic aint my bag, man. Whenever I write fiction, my art history shit waltzes in without much effort. So this project really took me out of my wheelhouse. But then Pete Clarke said that he was doing a book series about artistic movements, and I thought, well, at least I have someplace to send this thing.
You say upfront in the book that you avoided certain parts of the Renaissance—such as the Medici and the northern Renaissance. How did you decide what to focus on in the book?
Well, when I would tell people about the project they would ask, “Which part” and I’d say “the whole thing,” and they’d say, “Huh, it’s just a big era.” And I’d say, “fuck you man.” But yeah, what came out was what came out. I cut lots of sections cause they wouldn’t snuff. The book was meant to be an expressionistic personal view rather than a be-all account.
Who’s your favorite Renaissance artist?
Tough one. Obviously Michelangelo is my guy. I admire his drive. He knew what he was about and he focused on the work. When he wasn’t sculpting or painting or architecting, he’d go home and write poetry about God. And later, Berlioz would put music to some of them poems, and some of them tunes are alright. Besides that, I’d say Caravaggio (like all of us Cormac McCarthy reading dudes) even if he is from the Baroque.
You’ve mentioned how the Renaissance helped to reaffirm optimism in humanity, something that seems to be lacking today. Do you think we’ll ever again have a sense of widespread optimism? Can art help with that?
As my friends and I say, that’s a tough Hillary Duff (hehe, Duff. Just like the Simpsons beer. I hadn’t connected those two before). What the what was, was the plague. The 14th century was one nightmare after another, but the survivors of the plague saw life in a way that the earlier ages couldn’t have seen. Their optimism is one of the remarkable characteristics of the time. So, would it take such devastation to bring about another such flowering? Perhaps. That’s what Zizek says. Ziz says, “Don’t worry, something bad will happen.” Me I don’t know. I doubt it. Thing being, that people spend a lot of time with art. When people binge, they bask. They’re vegging out on art. Obviously fiction matters. We can take hope from that.
As a writer, you have a really unique style—a goofiness and irreverence that’s entirely your own. It seems like you’re having fun no matter what you’re writing about. How did you develop this voice and style?
Whoever came up with this question, thank you. That’s very kind to say. The Simpsons were big for me. I watched a lot of sitcoms as a tadpole. In college, my creative writing teacher gave me Donald Barthelme and that was big. I didn’t know such things could be made. Let me tell’ya, I cracked open Snow White the other day. I didn’t know shit about lit back when, now I know stuff, and I thought maybe Donald might’ve shrunk. He has not. That book’s like sixty years old and it’s still fresh zane. Barthelme stays modern the way Picasso does.
Besides that, writing comedy almost appears easy because what we’re expecting is a laugh. We’ve earned our direct deposit if someone chortles. All you philosophy and dramatists, us of comedy look on you and ponder, how so you know when to start the next scene? Least that’s what I think. For comedy, we’re all the same when we laugh. No walls are standing. No us and they, no language barrier. Just gut wind.
Beyond writing, you’ve mentioned previously that you also act and make films. Tell us about your film projects.
I did some commercial acting as well as some independent films. It was mostly FX work; I make a good monster. I ditched that life, I didn’t really like the work. For a time my friends and I had a web-series called &@. It was tremendous fun. The best lesson learned was that anything was possible. No matter how crazy a line might be, it could be represented somehow. It disassembled because it was a lot of thankless work and we all grew interested in our own projects. However, the &@ crew has got together recently, we’re putting on a play of a Seinfeld episode in a living room. It’s super fun.
What’s your take on the term “Renaissance man”? Given your diverse creative interests, do you think it’s something to strive to be?
I’m a Sontag guy. Sontag says, if you like an art you should like all the arts. I subscribe. If I were a sculptor, I would want the playwright to look at my work. Same for everything. So I’ve tried to. It’s one part respect and one part thievery. You bet your ass I steal that shit. All I have to do is change some stuff and I’m in the clear. Like the Feud thing, I’ve yet to get a cease and desist. But seriously, I do believe in openness. Being aesthetically available. I pick up books I think I won’t like and prove myself wrong, (Let’s get a hell yeah for Middlemarch) I sat through a four hour John Cage performance and loved every second. I don’t want to discriminate about anything. That’s my philosophy. And both Sontag and I have met people who were doing incredible work and didn’t know who Proust was. That was a lesson for me to learn, I foam at the mouth much less now.
What projects are you working on now? Do you have any more books, stories, or films in the works?
Honestly, no. This Renaissance ting hugged me for a few years. Well, I guess this would’ve been the time to talk about the whole Seinfeld thing. Anyway, what I’ve been doing lately is poetry. For me, if I was talking to a writer, and say they wrote non-fic, and even got picked up by a mag or J, and I’m like, hey nice, that’s big game, then they say, but recently I’ve been writing poetry, I always thought, that’s a baaaadd sign. (Why? Game respect game and writing poetry is the toughest of the four.) Now I’m doin it and it feels incredibly tremulous. But anyway, I don’t know. I don’t want to give up on short stories either. Short stories are the shit. They’re what divides a soft reader from a true book rat. Ya say, you read short stories? and they’re like, no, and then it’s like, well fuck off then.
