'Perhaps sound is only an insanity of silence, a mad gibber of empty space grown fearful of listening to itself and hearing nothing.' -- Steven Millhauser
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Who
'Steven Millhauser is perhaps one of modern American fiction's most elusive characters. When his novel, Martin Dressler, won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1997, Millhauser told an interviewer that it would not change his life one bit - "I dare it to," he was quoted as saying. The prize brought many of his older books back into print. As the patina of the prize faded however, they slowly retreated from the shelves and back into the hands of the small but devoted following he has always enjoyed.' -- ric.edu
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About
'Steven Millhauser doesn’t traffic in emotional upheaval or interpersonal conflict. Most fiction writers try to make characters seem like real people, but Millhauser flattens them, giving his books the paradoxical effect of seeming realer than reality. For him, meticulous observation does the work of psychology. Millhauser is also our foremost animist: in his stories, mannequins walk out of department store windows and figures in paintings knock hats off innocent bystanders. His vehicles for these effects are the parable and the confession. There is a disquieting quiet to every Millhauser sentence that makes it immediately recognizable, a feeling that each was recorded for posterity by the last man living.' -- D.T. Max
'Phenomenal clarity and rapacious movement are only two of the virtues of Millhauser's Dangerous Laughter, which focuses on the misery wrought by misdirected human desire and ambition. The citizens who build insulated domes over their houses in 'The Dome' escalate their ambitions to great literal and figurative heights, but the accomplishment becomes bittersweet. The uncontrollably amused adolescents in the book's title story, who gather together for laughing sessions, find something ultimately joyless in their mirth. As in earlier works like The Barnum Museum, Millhauser's tales evolve more like lyrical essays than like stories; the most breathlessly paced sound the most like essays. The painter at the center of 'A Precursor of the Cinema' develops from entirely conventional works to paintings that blend photographic realism with inexplicable movement, to—something entirely new. Similarly, haute couture dresses grow in 'A Change in Fashion' until the people beneath them disappear, and the socioeconomic tension Millhauser induces is as tight as a corset. Though his exaggerated outlook on contemporary life might seem to be at once uncomfortably clinical and fantastical, Millhauser's stories draw us in all the more powerfully, extending his peculiar domain further than ever.' -- PW
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Media
'Higher Life Forms', based on SM's story 'The Tower'
'Prospies, Steven Millhauser and Chocolate Milk'
A classical music interpretation of Steven Millhauser's 'History of Disturbance'
Trailer: 'The Illusionist', based on Steven Millhauser's novel
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Interview
from Transatlantica
Would you care to comment on the reasons for your fascination with the world of adolescence?
Steven Millhauser: What’s fascinating about adolescence is that it’s an in‑between state. It feels a tug in two directions: back toward the completed world of childhood, from which it is permanently banished, and forward toward the unknown realm of adulthood, which it both craves and fears. Because it’s an in‑between state, adolescence is fluid, unformed, unsettled, impermanent—in a sense, it doesn’t exist at all. Fiction conventionally presents adolescence as a time of sexual awakening, but for me it feels like the very image of spirit in all its restless striving.
One suggestion I was tempted to make in the book I wrote on your work was that one founding, permanent crisis in your texts consists in the contradictory desire to find a form for dreams and things and a refusal to see this necessary form solidify into anything permanent, a permanent struggle between form and dissolution. How widely have I erred?
SM: Not widely, not narrowly, not at all. One thing I learned from your book—and I learned lots of things—was how often I write about dissolution. It hadn’t struck me before. Why this continual return to images of disappearance, of fading away, of dissolving? It must be that dissolution is the necessary other side of permanence, its logical contradiction. It’s also a fact in the world: the loveliest snowman melts away, civilizations crumble, galaxies die. Against this universal principle of dissolution, the urge for un‑dissolution, for permanence, asserts itself. Form is the response of the spirit to the experience of dissolution.
Is your insistence on dream and the imagination connected with a concern for any kind of transcendence?
SM: No and yes. If by “transcendence” you mean something religious or mystical, then the answer is no. But “transcendence” is a tricky word. Its roots suggest a climbing‑across, a rising‑above, a going‑beyond. In this sense, dream and imagination are nothing but acts of transcendence, since they carry us beyond the limits of immediate sensation. In the same way, memory is also an act of transcendence. But I would make a distinction between secondary imagining and dreaming, and primary imagining and dreaming. The secondary form is whimsical, ignorant, a little bored, a little frivolous—it seeks only distraction. The primary form, though playful like all acts of mind, is radically serious. It seeks to go beyond immediate sensation because it doesn’t believe that sensation fully accounts for the astonishing, ungraspable event called the world. In this sense, dream and imagination are methods of investigating the nature of things, they are precise instruments for exploring reality. But enough, and more than enough. For someone who prefers silence, I’ve been talking far too much. It must be your fault.
Let me be guilty all the way, then: your texts often refer to “something dubious” in the desire of the imagined spectators to “forbidden passions” that “cannot be named.” Pointing as they seem to do to a fascination for the erotic and the deadly, should these mentions, however, be read more widely to suggest a collective desire for further “unspeakable practices,” or are they, less topically, meant to underline the somber side of any imaginative act?
SM: Both; but the second especially. Imagination has the violence and danger of all powerful things. Reason continually comes up against limits, it’s in fact an acknowledgment of limits, but imagination is unstoppable, it wants to smash limits out of sheer exuberance. Its cry is always the same : More! More! The brightest, most playful act of imagination casts a dark shadow.
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Further
'The Ambition of the Short Story', an essay by Steven Millhauser
Steven Millhauser Resource @ Answers.com
Steven Millhauser page @ Facebook
'Getting Closer', a story by Steven Millhauser @ The New Yorker
'Mermaid Fever', a story by Steven Millhauser @ Harpers
Podcast: Alec Baldwin reads Steven Millhauser's 'The Dome'
Podcast: Cynthia Ozick reads Steven Millhauser
Steven Millhauser interviewed @ Bomb
'Dangerous Laughter' reviewed @ Fanzine
Steven Millhauser's books @ Bookfinder
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Book
Steven Millhauser Dangerous LaughterKnopf
'Steven Millhauser’s latest collection opens with a story about Tom and Jerry—that’s right, the cartoon characters. But 'Cat ’n’ Mouse' doesn’t resort to easy pop-cultural winking at the reader. Instead, Millhauser portrays this manic animated world with precise, flat descriptions that are more akin to Chekhov than Loony Tunes. It’s a risky opener, but what could have been cutesy nostalgia turns out to be a tale of concentrated dread. At the end, Jerry escapes the cat’s grasp by erasing him with a handy handkerchief. Only then does he understand that in wiping away his hunter, he’s rendered his own life meaningless.
'The mouse’s realization distills a theme that recurs throughout Millhauser’s work: the possibility that our imaginations might make actual life obsolete. In the new volume, a master miniaturist creates works so small that no one can actually see them; a fashion trend obscures women to the point of oblivion; a forgotten artist named Harlan Crane creates paintings of such vivid dimension and movement that even today’s special-effects wizards aspire to his startling realism.' -- Time Out NY
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Excerpt
The cat is chasing the mouse through the kitchen: between the blue chair legs, over the tabletop with its red-and-white-checkered tablecloth that is already sliding in great waves, past the sugar bowl falling to the left and the cream jug falling to the right, over the blue chair back, down the chair legs, across the waxed and butter-yellow floor. The cat and the mouse lean backward and try to stop on the slippery wax, which shows their flawless reflections. Sparks shoot from their heels, but it's much too late: the big door looms. The mouse crashes through, leaving a mouse-shaped hole. The cat crashes through, replacing the mouse-shaped hole with a larger, cat-shaped hole. In the living room they race over the back of the couch, across the piano keys (delicate mouse tune, crash of cat chords), along the blue rug. The fleeing mouse snatches a glance over his shoulder, and when he looks forward again he sees the floor lamp coming closer and closer. Impossible to stop — at the last moment he splits in half and rejoins himself on the other side. Behind him the rushing cat fails to split in half and crashes into the lamp: his head and body push the brass pole into the shape of a trombone. For a moment the cat hangs sideways there, his stiff legs shaking like the clapper of a bell. Then he pulls free and rushes after the mouse, who turns and darts into a mousehole in the baseboard. The cat crashes into the wall and folds up like an accordion. Slowly he unfolds, emitting accordion music. He lies on the floor with his chin on his upraised paw, one eyebrow lifted high in disgust, the claws of his other forepaw tapping the floorboards. A small piece of plaster drops on his head. He raises an outraged eye. A framed painting falls heavily on his head, which plunges out of sight between his shoulders. The painting shows a green tree with bright red apples. The cat's head struggles to rise, then pops up with the sound of a yanked cork, lifting the picture. Apples fall from the tree and land with a thump on the grass. The cat shudders, winces. A final apple falls. Slowly it rolls toward the frame, drops over the edge, and lands on the cat's head. In the cat's eyes, cash registers ring up NO SALE.
The mouse, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers, is sitting in his plump armchair, reading a book. He is tall and slim. His feet rest on a hassock, and a pair of spectacles rest on the end of his long, whiskered nose. Yellow light from a table lamp pours onto the book and dimly illuminates the cozy brown room. On the wall hang a tilted sampler bearing the words HOME SWEET HOME, an oval photograph of the mouse's mother with her gray hair in a bun, and a reproduction of Seurat's Sunday Afternoon in which all the figures are mice. Near the armchair is a bookcase filled with books, with several titles visible: Martin Cheddarwit, Gouda's Faust, The Memoirs of Anthony Edam, A History of the Medicheese, the sonnets of Shakespaw. As the mouse reads his book, he reaches without looking toward a dish on the table. The dish is empty: his fingers tap about inside it. The mouse rises and goes over to the cupboard, which is empty except for a tin box with the word CHEESE on it. He opens the box and turns it upside down. Into his palm drops a single toothpick. He gives it a melancholy look. Shaking his head, he returns to his chair and takes up his book. In a bubble above his head a picture appears: he is seated at a long table covered with a white tablecloth. He is holding a fork upright in one fist and a knife upright in the other. A mouse butler dressed in tails sets before him a piece of cheese the size of a wedding cake.
From the mousehole emerges a red telescope. The lens looks to the left, then to the right. A hand issues from the end of the telescope and beckons the mouse forward. The mouse steps from the mousehole, collapses the telescope, and thrusts it into his bathrobe pocket. In the moonlit room he tiptoes carefully, lifting his legs very high, over to the base of the armchair. He dives under the chair and peeks out through the fringe. He emerges from beneath the armchair, slinks over to the couch, and dives under. He peeks out through the fringe. He emerges from beneath the couch and approaches the slightly open kitchen door. He stands flat against the doorjamb, facing the living room, his eyes darting left and right. One leg tiptoes delicately around the jamb. His stretched body snaps after it like a rubber band. In the kitchen he creeps to a moonlit chair, stands pressed against a chair leg, begins to climb. His nose rises over the tabletop: he sees a cream pitcher, a gleaming knife, a looming pepper mill. On a breadboard sits a wedge of cheese. The mouse, hunching his shoulders, tiptoes up to the cheese. From a pocket of his robe he removes a white handkerchief that he ties around his neck. He bends over the cheese, half closing his eyes, as if he were sniffing a flower. With a crashing sound the cat springs onto the table. As he chases the mouse, the tablecloth bunches in waves, the sugar bowl topples, and waterfalls of sugar spill to the floor. An olive from a fallen cocktail glass rolls across the table, knocking into a cup, a saltshaker, a trivet: the objects light up and cause bells to ring, as in a pinball machine. On the floor a brigade of ants is gathering the sugar: one ant catches the falling grains in a bucket, which he dumps into the bucket of a second ant, who dumps the sugar into the bucket of a third ant, all the way across the room, until the last ant dumps it into a waiting truck. The cat chases the mouse over the blue chair back, down the chair legs, across the waxed floor. Both lean backward and try to stop as the big door comes closer and closer.
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*
p.s. Hey. ** Changeling, Hi, man. Since that post was originally supposed to appear on a different day, and I moved it at the last minute, that is kind of freaky. How are you? How's the writing and everything else? ** Thomas Moronic, Mr. T, hello. Further strangeness, cool. Glad you dug it. What's going on in your neck of the UK? ** David Ehrenstein, Thank you, David. And thank you so much for the amazing email and attachment! I'll get back to you about that as soon my trip preparations and/or trip allows. Great! ** Oliver, Greetings, O. I don't know 'Fallout New Vegas', and I think I really need to, having a bit of snowglobe fascination myself. Sorry for the slowness on finishing reading your piece. I'm way slow, but I'm enjoying every traipsing eye movement. ** Tosh, Ah, well, I certainly was hoping you'd approve. I didn't know until I put the post together that Sparks did new intro and outro theme songs for 'Bookworm'! June for the Maddin/Sparks LA thing? Shit, I need to time a West Coast trip around that. For the Sparks lyrics book, did the Mael's do the selection or you or a combination? Stunning news on the publishing front there. ** Alan, Hi. Oh, hm, I think I guessed the mystery writer/ requester based on your clue, but I'm not confident enough to voice my guess. Great news, though! ** Syreearmwellion, Based on what I heard of him, your guess/ gossip makes sense, yes, ha ha. Maybe it was a magical alignment of external forces or something: the altitude, the drug-implanted memory/idea, ... That was a very pretty account. ** Postitbreakup, Man, I'm sorry about the best laid plans thing. At the risk of being a nag, I didn't see you giving writing a shot in there. Writing and/or having something you're working on is a great loneliness counteraction, or it works for me, and is in service a lot of the time now that I'm way over here, actually. I'm just saying. Using one of your gifts to make something to share with the world can both help keep you busy and up the self-esteem. Sometimes output is the answer when input can only get you so far. ** Chris (British), Hey. Thanks for the vacation wishes. It should be quite nice, given that Italy (barring its government) is pretty awesome and all. Oh, well, if you're off to the new job soon then I guess go into it with multitasking as a goal? If I don't see you before, good luck with everything, and I'll get to catch up at the end of the month. ** David, I guess they got called Glam because they fit the bill by proxy or something? Russell's androgynous voice, the cleverness, the theatrical personas/live show, their outfits, the soaring crunchiness of their pop. It was a sideswipe, it seems, but it makes sense too. ** James, Hey. I've started reading it, but it's one of the bunch of books I'm in the early stages of reading because I haven't had any downtime to read properly. I like it much so far, but I'm only in the early stages. Sorry for the lag. Love to you too. ** Steevee, 'Electric Mud' is pretty legendary in a number of musical circles, so it's quick disappearance doesn't hugely surprise me. Never heard of Power of Zeus. I'll definitely see if I can hear some of their stuff since it sounds way up one of my alleys, so thanks for the report! ** Paul Curran, Hi, Paul. Thanks a lot. Yeah, I hope you're feeling better enough to get back to the writing today. Like I said, if it's anything like the protracted recovery I had from that measles bout, all sympathies to you. And if it's any consolation, I started and wrote a bunch of 'Closer' while I was recovering. Do let me know how it goes. ** _Black_Acrylic, Aw, thanks, Ben. What's your agenda for this upcoming week? 'YnY' stuff is among that, I assume? ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Thank you, man. My all time favorite Sparks album is towards the end of their so-called Glam era: 'Indiscreet'. Kind of a masterpiece, that one. No, I don't know 'The Parallel Road'. Strange. Wow, it sounds really incredible. I'm going to get on that as soon as I can. Hm, I'll check to see if a compadre can find and download it. Thanks a lot for the tip. That sounds like a total must. Great, thank you about 'Topograph'. Oh, yeah, sorry to be so slow, email-wise. I would be very happy if you really don't mind parting with that Jacobs film. Music, mm, I'd have to think. I'll try to write to you re: that before I leave. If not, the book and film would be an amazing gift! Thank you so much, Jeff! How's the novel? ** Patrick deWitt, Patrick, you kind soul. I've been having a judicious daily gobble of Grape Nuts thanks to you! My taste buds are dreaming they're Vesuviuses again. Thank you, thank you. Favorite Bee Gees song? Hm, I can only narrow it down to three off the top of my head: 'Holiday', 'Lemons Never Forget', 'Craise Finton Kirk Royal Academy of Arts'. Oh, wait, and 'With the Sun in My Eyes'. That's hard. I adore the first few Bee Gees albums. ** Creative Massacre, Hey, pal! It's great to see you! How are you? What's going on? When do you go to NYC again? ** Sypha, Hey. The new blog is looking really good already! Everyone, the mighty Sypha has a new blog for you to peruse and peruse again. It's called 'Random Monster Encounters', and, at the moment, you can see some of his favorite album covers, candid younger Sypha snapshots, and much more. It's right here, and do go there. A Throbbing Gristle Day would completely monumental, man. Wowzer, that would be great! Thank you! ** Misanthrope, I guess 'is' and 'are' both work, no? I suppose one of them is more technically correct, but who cares what The Man says is right and wrong. Sorry you're not feeling totally up to speed yet, man. Maybe today? ** Bill, Hi, B. Yeah, the 'Rhythm Thief' vid/song are amazing. Cool. No, I haven't found 'Blindsight'. Yeah, I mean, if it's easy and if you don't mind and want to snag that copy and maybe bring it with you when you settle in over here, I'll reimburse you. Good to know you wrote to Sonia. I'll try to corner her if I can before I leave on vacation and see if my intervention is needed. Oslo: Gosh I hardly got to see anything. The Black Metal shop/museum, which I didn't get to see, is apparently a must. Check what's on at Black Box Theater. Hm... Maybe Polter has some suggestions, if she's around. ** Math, Thanks a bunch, Mathster. ** Schlix, Thanks a lot, Uli. How are you doing? ** Okay. Steven Millhauser is one of my favorite American authors, and I highly recommend him. See what you think. See you tomorrow.
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