Literature or what?

Blurt, blurt, blurt--that's what blogging's about. Forget the composition. Never mind the quality of expression or idea. Just spew. I'm not good at it, I know. My son, on the other hand, is an enthusiastic and accomplished proponent. He's prolific, natural, entertaining. Must be a generational thing. Anyway, stung by anonymous criticisms, let me have another stab at the business. I've had a few drinks (OK, many drinks) and I can't sleep. Too many things are on my mind.

Number one: what makes one book literary, prize-worthy, collectable, memorable, treasured, while another is at most amusing, diverting? I've recently finished reading two books by Orhan Pamuk--The Museum of Innocence and Istanbul: Memories and the City. I was drawn to them because I'll be visiting Istanbul soon and I read an intriguing review in The Age (Melbourne's metro broadsheet). I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I half suspected that Pamuk's recent Nobel Prize for Literature was more about ideological barrows (pushing niche nobility) than absolute merit. But I was truly humbled by what I discovered.

A writer friend of mine thinks that it's writing style that distinguishes literature from pulp (gross exaggeration but this is a blog after all). But if that's so, translations will always fall short of the mark. And even allowing for the translation gap, I can't say I've been enchanted by Pamuk's sentence and chapter construction. On the other hand, I've been deeply and mysteriously affected by his canvas craft. Interesting. He has something to say, and he does it slowly, deliberately, unbloggingly. Long live the blurt-free form.

Secondly, I had lunch today with one of my longest-standing and most controversial friends. We've had our ups and downs to say the least, including five years or so when I classed her as enemy. Long story. But life is short. If you expect people to be perfect, you'll soon be alone. I have many gripes with this woman, but also many commonalities. She's another bad girl, larger than life, flawed but fabulous.

The connecting thought? On YouTube, I heard Pamuk talking about how novels taught him about the value of individual choice versus cultural conformity. Relationships are a case in point. Accept the whole package or move on. Neat details don't necessarily add up to worthwhile bundles.