by Frank T. Wydra
The second best day of the year. Mailman arrives. I rip the brown wrapping from the bulky book and plop in a corner of the carpeted room where no one can spy. The Sears Roebuck Catalogue is here.
And what a tome it is! From bras to bicycles, wagons to woolen underwear, the world’s bazaar is pictured, penned, and promoted. Did they have that last year? Where’s the pink flamingo I’ve been saving for, nickel a week? And, nine of ten items, one of those three words: Good, Better, Best.
Good. Better. Best.
Genius. Marketing genius. Only have a quarter? Buy “Good.” It will meet the need, it will satisfy the lust, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, warm the cold, comfort the sick. It is the corduroy slacks that hum until the tenth wash. Other adolescent heads may turn and titter at the staccato rasp of brushing thighs, but the pants are tough and sturdy. All that can be asked of “Good.”
Without a “Good” there is no “Better.” Just hyperbole. Just ad-man jive. Just lingo, by jingo. But, add a bell, add a whistle, add a buffalo nickel and buy “Better.” Better. Who does not want Better? The word is a swagger. You are not of the hoi polloi. You can afford more, and those who read the book–its aficionados in the next two-flat–will know. Yes, they will, I tell myself. Pre-washed corduroy slacks. No rasp. No titter.
Yet, up there at the apex of the pyramid, that angel atop the Christmas Tree, the Nirvana of expectation, the summit of sophistication, the crest, crown, peak, pinnacle, vertex of desire is “Best.” Only another dime. How few spend that dime. It is a separator, a PhD in a high school world. It is the chrome and horn and white-walled tires of a Husky bike on a street where scooters are made of roller skates and two by fours and orange crates and bottle cap reflectors held together by four-penny nails. And only another dime. Wide wale, this time. Pile with style.
Sort of like writing.
There is the “Good.” Solid craftsmanship, forged in a Bessemer and guaranteed to last as long as it takes to get through the read. Quality words, well stated. They tell a story. There is plot, character, place. A beginning, middle, end. And when you finish reading it, it was well worth the day. Perhaps you learned a little. Perhaps you passed the time. It was, how shall I say it? “Good.” It is the fast-food story written to be consumed on-the-run as the commuter train rumbles or the lunchtime drags. It is the food of gluttons who read a book a day with no need to stop for reflection or an unexpected feeling, and who brag of it. It is Good. Perfectly Good.
Yet, for only a nickel more an idea lurks. A theme, some call it, a second stratum that insidiously weaves through the words to provide a meaning not immediately identifiable. It is a counterpoint, sometimes reinforcing, sometimes contradicting, always amplifying. It is not accidental. It is intelligent design. It is the purgatory of Billy Budd.
The compelling combination of craft and concept can propel these lucky tomes to giddy heights, as high as Dorothy tromping through poppies. It is the stuff of which the Crichtons, and Browns are made. These scribblings make you think. No, really. They make you think. They force you to think. You can not read them without thinking. They are Ginkgo Biloba in print. Can you clone a raptor from a rock? Did Jesus fornicate with Mary the Mag? They are more than pulp. They are Better. They are sellers.
But they are not stellar. They lack that certain something, that je ne sais quoi. Well, actually, I do know what it is.
They lack that silver dime that transforms Better to Best. That sliver of silver dubbed emotion. Brother, can you spare a dime? The pathos of that question makes you weep. It is that well crafted story, layered with ideas and gilded with feeling. Ah, yes. This is the grail. The book that–as you read it, as you let it lay in your lap, as you turn its last page, as you think about it the next week, the next year, the next lifetime–makes you cry, laugh, hurt, love, makes you feel the loneliness, the despair, the hope, the passion. Makes you feel.
But not just emotion. Without the underlying steel of the story or the graceful design of the elusive idea, the chrome of emotion has no foundation and is no more than a shiny, effervescent mirage that will not survive the wind. Think Proulx and her Close Range Stories. Superb voice. Train wrecks of lives. There, but for the Grace of God–. Yet hope. Redeeming hope. Think Conrad and Darkness. Stark reality in a shroud. Deep into the jungle of life. Verdant ambition. Yet despair. Eternal despair.
Craftsmanship. Theme. Emotion. Layers laid on layers until the whole is more than the sum of its warts.
Good. Better. Best. Words I remember from an old catalog, a dream book, pictures of what might be. Yet, even today, they remain toll booths on my writing road. If only I can find another nickel. Better yet, a dime.
Aug 13 2006
Contact me at: frank.writestuff@gmail.com
12 Comments, Comment or Ping
David Niall Wilson
And in the world of writing there are those aspirint to each level, those aspiring to levesl they’ll likely never reach, but hey - if you reach your goal, where do you go from there…I mean…if you have a BEST on your tiered structure…and you hit it…can you make something better? Can you aspire just to maintain that level..or do you need to find a new plateau beyond the three bs?
Good essay though…and I used to sit and read those catalogues cover to cover.
DNW
Aug 13th, 2006
Sully
Carpal throbbing wrist be damned, I love Sears cats, Flamingo Frank. Love your essay, too. Ask me, “Buddy, can you spare a dime,” and I’ll spot you a march of them. You produce “Best.” And I wish I could comment daily on all these excellent essays showing up on Storytellers, but I’m in the midst of surgery fest. One op last week, another this week, coming attractions after that. All minor. Carpal tunnel has to be done again both wrists, probably 6 weeks apart, then I should be good to go. Have been working on my essay for the 16th a few lines a day and it will be ready. Keep these stellar columns goin’, good friends!
– Sully (Thomas Sullivan)
Aug 13th, 2006
Janet Berliner
Wonderful essay, Frank. Janet
Aug 13th, 2006
John B. Rosenman
Good, Better, Best. You draw a nice connection between Sears catalogues and writing.
I wonder . . . are there some stories you write that at most, for whatever reason, can only be “good,” or “good” or “better,” but probably not “best”? In other words, you can aim at a damned good read but for whatever reason, the story you’re writing has a built-in limitation?
Aug 13th, 2006
Frank Wydra
David, art is always evolving, so I suspect that whatever is best today will not suffice for tomorrow. Yet, my notion is that the best stories need craftsmanship, theme, and emotion. Leave out any of these and the story may be many things, but it will not reach the apex of its possibilities. Could there be a fourth element? Sure.
Sully, let the wrist rest. I’m flattered that you dragged yourself from the matress to write, but, damn it man, let the wrist rest. I’ll trade you two flamingos for that dime.
Thanks Janet. Are you arranging that party in Vegas?
Hey John, You are exactly on point. Not every story falls into the best–maybe that’s the literary-mainstream–category. Nor should they aspire to. Most stories are going to be just Good stories, wonderfully told with no pretense of subliminal message or emotional evocation. Most of the reading I do is of stories I would dump into the Better classification, in addition to being well told, they have a second level, an enduring message if you will. I love these stories and devour them by the dozen.
Frank
Aug 13th, 2006
Janet Berliner
Party’s on. All SU members invited. I’ll provide food, some beds, and a lot of floor space. You’re on your own for booze and gambling. I would love it. LOVE it. –J.
Aug 13th, 2006
David Niall Wilson
I wonder if there aren’t too many variables for this to really work. What brings out emotion in one reader is often a combination of things that would be less meaningful to another…
It’s difficult to break down art of any sort into functioning parts that you can itemize to explain levels of success, but it’s always fun to try — and it always leads to new self-analysis and introspection, for me, anyway, as I glance back over what I’ve done…and what I’m doing.
I definitely agree that there are pieces you know up front are “just a good story” or “technically good but not earth-shaking” - and that there are other things you can write and feel very deeply about. The problem for me is that it doesn’t always communicate itself to the world of readers…quite often the “okay” stuff is what people rave about (in my own experience) and the deeper, more complex work finds a small core audience that loves it, and is relatively ignored by the rest of the world.
D
Aug 13th, 2006
Frank Wydra
David, what you say strikes home, and yet…
As I think back on the books I really love, they have these ingredients. They are rare books, memorable books, books that have come down though time as classics.
Think of Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, Golding’s Lord of the Flies, Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, or more recently Cunningham’s Hours, Eugenides’ Middlesex, and Roth’s Human Stain. They are out there, but they are rare.
Most of us can only aspire to achieve the multi-layered complexity of these stories without becoming preachy or cloying. That’s why most of us write good, serviceable stories. No dishonor, there. But to once craft a gem that will reflect through the ages, what a challenge. What a goal.
Frank
Aug 13th, 2006
David Niall Wilson
See, here is some proof of the pudding, for me. I found the Grapes of Wrath to be terribly flawed. Yes, it had amazing emotion, but the ending trails off into nothingness, and the pacing is rushed at the end, as well…there is no resolution, and while I understand that this is largely because the plight of people living in those circumstances wasn’t generaly resolved in their lifteimes, this is one my least favorite of Steinbeck’s novels -while I’d say “Of Mice and Men” hit all the bells you mention for me..
My point wasn’t that your breakdown was flawed, just that you can’t say a story “has” the elements for Good, Better, Best except in your own personal context. For the next reader, they may not be present in the same strengths, or consistency, or might not hit the bells at all…
David
Aug 13th, 2006
Kelly Kane
I may need bloggers’ instruction. I thought I left a comment, but it has not shown up….I will check this blog site later so I do not repeat myself repeat myself repeat myself.
Aug 13th, 2006
Kelly Kane
Frank,
Thanks for the inspiration AND the trip down memory lane. Love the Good Better Best essay!
Kelly
Aug 13th, 2006
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