Capturing the Ethos of the Manifesto Genre

by Lane Chasek

While reading submissions for Jokes Review’s upcoming manifesto issue, we’ve put a lot of thought into the question: what exactly is a manifesto? Technically, a manifesto is “a public declaration of intentions, opinions, objectives, or motives, as one issued by a government, sovereign, or organization.” But this definition doesn’t speak to the essence of the manifesto as a literary genre.

Sometimes literary works that might be considered manifestos are overt manifestos, while other times they’re more subtle. In either case, there is a distinct ethos of the manifesto genre, which I believe is two-pronged. These prongs are voice and nakedness of expression, discussed separately below.

Voice

The voice of a manifesto should be slightly manic and rushed. Some of my favorite literary manifestos, such as Frank O’Hara’s “Personism” and Kenneth Goldsmith’s “I Look to Theory Only When I Realize That Somebody Has Dedicated Their Entire Life to a Question I Have Only Fleetingly Considered,” are written in a type of voice which is neither conversational nor formal. These aren’t the voices of close friends or professors—they’re more the kind of voice you’d encounter from someone rapidly scrawling something on a taxi ride (which, in Frank O’Hara’s case, was how he actually wrote “Personism”).

A sense of urgency is great, but something I look for is the sense that a piece of literature was written while waiting for the bus or in the back seat of your ex’s SUV. Works such as The Communist Manifesto, while undoubtedly manifestos, have too much academic polish to truly capture the imagination. They read as if they were written at desks or in a personal study. When I think of strong voice, I usually have in mind literary or artistic manifestos, though killer manifestos will often possess this voice as well. This quality is rarer in political manifestos, though I’ve found some fliers for militias and anarchist groups throughout Nebraska and Kansas that display this quality in spades.

Nakedness of Expression

This aspect of the manifesto style is harder to describe and may seem closely related to voice, but I believe it’s unique. Whereas voice is a matter of style, nakedness of expression has more to do with content.

Nakedness of expression means that the writer of a manifesto will write what comes to their mind. Examples include Hugo Ball, in his Dada Manifesto, writing such passages as “Dada Tzara, dada Huelsenbeck, dada m'dada, dada m'dada dada mhm, dada dera dada, dada Hue, dada Tza.”

A more recent, controversial example comes from Christopher Dorner’s manifesto. This manifesto falls into the genre of manifesto most lay readers are aware of (i.e., the killer manifesto), and Dorner hits the common features of the classic killer manifesto, such as the author detailing what they perceive as society’s greatest injustices, their own experiences with these injustices, as well as their declaration of what they will do to address these injustices.

Toward the end of Dorner’s manifesto, he addresses various public figures and celebrities, ranging from Todd Philips to Hillary Clinton. But in the middle of these addresses, the reader encounters what may be the most human sentence ever written in the English language: “Damn, [I’m] gonna miss shark week.” This manifesto wasn’t planned—it’s an expression of a naked mind, and the erratic introduction of new ideas and concepts in Dorner’s writing reflects this.

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Lane Chasek (@LChasek) is the author of the nonfiction book Hugo Ball and the Fate of the Universe, the poetry/prose collection A Cat is not a Dog, and two forthcoming chapbooks, Dad During Deer Season and this is why I can't have nice things. Lane's current pride and joy is an essay he published in Hobart about Lola Bunny and the latest Space Jam movie.

Ethan Coen's Fake Author Bio as Nudist

by Peter Clarke

The Coen brothers are two of the greatest screenwriters of all time. Fargo, The Big Lebowski, Burn After Reading… Nearly everything they touch turns to dark-comedy gold.

But Ethan Coen is isn’t just a brilliant screenwriter, it turns out he’s also a hell of a short story writer. His 1998 collection, “Gates of Eden,” is often just as entertaining as his movies—if that could even be possible. His superpower as a writer is creating incredibly strong characters that come alive on the page (usually gangsters or detectives).

At the end of his book, I expected to find the typical author bio. Instead, in the “About the Author” section, there was one final fictional character. I always love it when authors have fun with their own bio, although it can seem forced and lame. In Coen’s case, I was thrown off by the serious tone of the bio, and only halfway through realized it was a joke. And it struck me as hilarious.

Not to be confused with the famous screenwriter, here’s Coen’s full bio as an “accomplished nudist”:

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ethan Coen is the Samuel Gelbfisz Professor of English as a Second Language at the University of Colorado at Boulder. He is the author of Homeward Plods: Images of the Cowswain in 18th Century Verse, and For Art's Sake: Schopenhauer's Esthetics. he is married to the Percussionist Grace Buller-George, whose husband Sir Hugh Ayrehead-Maybe of the Austin-Davies Ayrehead-Maybesis Chief Disciplinarian of the Glamorgan Male Choir. They have two children, Alun and Gwynff, as does he. Coen is an accomplished nudist and is the author of a study of Scott's Kenilworth which was universally ignored, as well as of three volumes of poetry or, if any publisher should prefer, one big one.

Of course, there is a real bio on the back sleeve of the book:

Pataphysics and Divergent Thinking

by Peter Clarke

At face value, pataphysics, defined as an extension of metaphysics, is pure nonsense. What could it mean for something to be beyond metaphysics? No matter how hard you try to wrap your mind around it, you won’t find any significant meaning at the heart of this conception.

But you do find a wide-open canvas for unhinged ideas and associations. This is “science” with no wrong answers, only some that are funnier or cleverer than others. Put another way, this pataphysical canvas is a place to fearlessly engage in divergent thinking.

Divergent thinking is the heart and soul of creativity. When psychologists measure creativity, they do so by testing one’s ability to think divergently. In his book “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell gives a classic example of a divergent thinking test. Consider the prompt: “How many uses can you think of for a brink.” One test-taker with an unusually high IQ responded, “Building things, throwing.” Despite this person’s intelligence, this answer is a hard fail. Another test-taker who excelled at divergent thinking responded, “To use in smash-and-grab raids. To. Help hold a house together. To use in a game of Russian roulette if you want to keep fit at the same time (bricks at ten paces, run and throw — no evasive action allowed). To hold the eiderdown on a bed tie a brick at each corner. As a breaker of empty Coca-Cola bottles.”

Gladwell contends that divergent thinking is often more important than IQ for finding success in the world. This is why, he says, people who win the Nobel Prize don’t all come from Harvard, but are frequently from schools with far less exclusive admissions standards.

How do you get better at divergent thinking? One way is to spend time beyond the metaphysical realm, on the pataphysical canvas. If you’re faced with a question like, “What is a brick used for?” step outside your usual experience. Abandon your typical notion of what might be “logical.” Go off the deep end. Peek over the cliff’s edge. Dive off the rocker. Find something random, reach out for something tangential to that, and then turn it upside down.

What is a brick used for? Among other things: Holding open the nozzle to the floodgates of your imagination.

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This essay is a selection from “Pataphysics: A Secret Weapon for Creativity” published in Blank Page.

Did William S. Burroughs Write Blade Runner?

by Peter Clarke

Yes! Sort of!

“The Bladerunner” was a 1974 novel by sci-fi author Alan E. Nourse. A few years later, William S. Burroughs wrote a story treatment based on the novel. This treatment was published in 1979 as a novella titled “Blade Runner, a Movie.”

The published work is definitely a literary oddity. It’s not a traditional film treatment, screenplay, or novella. But it is very Burroughs. It feels like something he’d create using his cut up technique. It jumps around, from wild overviews, to character sketches, to action mid-scene.

Page one begins:

Now B.J. you are asking me to tell you in one sentence what this film is about? I’m telling you it’s too big for one sentence—even a life sentence. For starters it’s about the National Health Insurance we don’t got. It’s about a plain middle-class middle-income bracket Joe, the $15,000-a-year boy, sweating out two jobs…

But no, this novella by Burroughs does not have much to do with the 1982 film Blade Runner. Ridley Scott acquired the title “Blade Runner,” but for his film he used the plot from Philip K. Dick’s novel “Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.”

Here’s a peek inside the book:

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Peter Clarke is the editor-in-chief of Jokes Review. He’s the author of the comic novels Politicians Are Superheroes and The Singularity Survival Guide. Follow him on Twitter @HeyPeterClarke.

Richard Brautigan's Introduction to "The Beatles Lyrics Illustrated"

by Peter Clarke

“The Beatles Lyrics Illustrated” was released in 1975 by Dell Publishing Co. The paperback book features song lyrics, 100 photos of the band, and, unexpectedly, an introduction by San Francisco Beat author Richard Brautigan.

The introduction feels strangely uninspired, almost as if it’s an early draft of the piece that wasn’t supposed to get published. But it does have Brautigan’s distinct voice and quirky use of metaphor.

Beatles lyrics are great, but they’re also everywhere. A piece of writing by Richard Brautigan that doesn’t appears in one of his books, however, is extraordinarily rare. I imagine anyone buying this “Beatles Lyrics” book really just wants the Brautigan intro.

If you haven’t experienced Brautigan yet, start with “Trout Fishing in America,” “Revenge of the Lawn,” or “In Watermelon Sugar.” But if you’ve already read all of his available books (like we have), you’ll enjoy this:

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The Silence of Flooded Houses

by Richard Brautigan

Earlier this year here in Montana the Yellowstone River was flooding down below the Carter Bridge. The river kept rising day after day until it was flowing through houses. They became like islands in the river and there was a strange awkward loneliness to them because these were places where people had been living (laughing, crying, love and death) only a few days before and now they were just part of the Yellowstone River.

Every time I passed by those houses on my way into town, I would get a very sad feeling and some words would come to mind. They were always the same words, "The silence of flooded houses." They repeated themselves over and over again. I soon accepted them as part of the way into town.

I'll use those words for something, someday, I would think afterwards, but I didn't know what that something would be or when that day would come.

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the
church where the wedding has been,
lives in a dream.
Waits at the window, wearing the face
that she keeps in a jar by the door,
Who is it for?

Father McKenzie, writing the words of a
sermon that no-one will hear,
No-one comes near.
Look at him working, darning his socks
in the night when there's nobody there,
What does he care?

Eleanor Rigby died in the church as was
buried along with her name.
Nobody came.
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from
his hands as he walks from the grave.
No-one was saved.

One could say a million things about these songs. You could go on for years talking about the Beatles. You could chop down a whole forest to make space for the pages.

Some of the songs in this book are like the silence of flooded houses.

This is all I have to say.

Richard Brautigan
Pine Creek, Montana
October 11, 1974

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Peter Clarke is the editor-in-chief of Jokes Review. He’s the author of the comic novels Politicians Are Superheroes and The Singularity Survival Guide. Follow him on Twitter @HeyPeterClarke.