The notably unsentimental Jonathan Franzen offers a clear-eyed defense of sentiment in this essay collection.
In the first essay in his new collection, Farther Away, Jonathan Franzen rails against âtechnocapitalism,â arguing that âconsumer-technology productsâ like the BlackBerry are âgreat allies and enablers of narcissism.â At this point, such pronouncements are standard Franzen fare: Not a week seems to go by without the author of âThe Correctionsâ and âFreedomâ launching a jeremiad against Twitter or bemoaning how Facebook has changed the meaning of âlike.â Franzen is American literatureâs grouch in chief, and he seems to relish the role.
Given the prickly persona that Franzen cultivates, it may come as a surprise to find that the real subject of âFarther Awayâ isnât technocapitalism, but that which it most threatens: love. The collection opens with a defense of love as âbottomless empathy, born out of the heartâs revelation that another person is every bit as real as you areâ; it ends with Franzen finishing Paula Foxâs âDesperate Charactersâ for the âsixth or seventh time,â finding that the novel retains its power to move him: âsuddenly Iâm in love all over again.â âFarther Awayâ is, from beginning to end, a celebration of love: what provokes it and what endangers it, what joys it brings and what terrors it produces.
There is an interesting tension between Franzenâs crisp, clear prose â even intensely self-reflexive passages are crisply, clearly so â and the digressive form his essays often take. The best pieces in âFarther Awayâ are loose, baggy monsters, combining personal reflection, cultural analysis, and philosophical introspection. (There are also several excellent travel essays.)
âI Just Called to Say I Love You,â an essay that considers the increasing frequency with which people publicly declare âI love youâ into their cellphones, is a perfect example. In a mere 20 pages, Franzen manages to shift from a consideration of privacy and technology to a description of the events of Sept. 11 and the âdisastrous sentimentalization of American public discourseâ that it brought about to a close reading of a love letter his father sent to his mother in 1944. The essay shouldnât work â there are too many shifts in register and tone â but somehow it does.
Franzen writes that âthe one thing that all prose ought to do is make its makers think.â The best essays in this collection donât just show us Franzen thinking; they force us to think differently, more expansively, as well.
âFarther Awayâ takes its title from the New Yorker essay in which Franzen first discussed the suicide of his friend the novelist David Foster Wallace. Franzen refuses to see his late friend as the saintly figure he has posthumously been cast as. Wallaceâs intractable problem, Franzen believes, the spiritual and psychic bind that he could never think or write his way out of, was that he ânever quite felt that he deserved to receiveâ love. Wallace couldnât allow himself to feel loved, and so he âkilled himself, in a way calculated to inflict maximum pain on those who loved him mostâ. Itâs a startlingly candid claim in a startlingly candid essay. Part elegy, part literary criticism, part travelogue (Franzen describes taking some of Wallaceâs ashes to âa forbiddingly vertical volcanic islandâ off the coast of Chile), âFarther Awayâ is one of the strangest, most powerful documents of mourning that Iâve ever read.
âFarther Awayâ reveals a kinder Franzen, a writer who has no truck with sentimentality but is a clear-eyed defender of sentiment. At one point, Franzen lists the many things that he is against: âweak narrative, overly lyrical prose, solipsism, self-indulgence....â The list goes on. But âFarther Awayâ is such a wonderful collection because of the things Franzen is for â the ennobling effects of love and imaginative experience, our need to escape from the isolated self and journey farther away, toward other places and other people.
Like the best fiction, âFarther Awayâ charts a way out of loneliness.