Corporate America Wants to Buy (and Sell) Tao Lin

Corporate America Wants to Buy (and Sell) Tao Lin

I’m going a different route with my column this week. No theoretical physics. Nothing (hopefully) too abstract. No footnotes. Less than 1,000 words. No frills. Just a straightforward conversation about something that basically vexes me: the idea and process of “selling out”. I’m also half breaking my rule about rhetorical questions today, i.e. there will be questions that, upon first glance, appear rhetorical, but, in reality, are questions I’d actually like answers to.

First of all, what’s the big deal with selling out, anyway? For a writer, I mean. How does a writer even sell out? Because if it means signing with a huge publishing house for seven or eight figures and some seriously wide distribution of your work, well, wouldn’t that be, all things considered, a pretty fucking good thing?

Really, there are probably only two types of writers, with respect to this issue, if it is even a real issue at all: writers who have “sold out” and writers who have not “sold out” yet. The third (read: inconsequential) type of writer is one who is never afforded the opportunity to “sell out” (sorry, third type!).

A popular notion on the old Interwebs these days is the notion that Tao Lin has sold out. Bullshit. Have you ever actually read Tao Lin? “Selling out” for him is, for all intents and purposes, impossible. I mean, seriously, the man on the cover of Richard Yates has a vagina-face. Lin simply can’t sell out, unless of course he, say, writes a sequel to The Notebook, which, actually, come to think of it, I would totally read! My guess is that it would be told solely through alternating Tweets, replete with hashtags and relevant bit.ly-shortened links.

Let’s just agree to agree that Tao Lin (like many others) has not “sold out”.

Something perhaps a little more debatable is whether or not any “experimental writers” could “sell out,” even if they wanted to.

Of course, I submit, this requires some sort of agreement as to what exactly “experimental writing” actually is, and if my previous three columns and HTMLGIANT’s truly fan-fucking-tastic series (found here and here) haven’t come to a singular consensus, we might have to go with a somewhat generic definition for the purposes of this column.

The designation “experimental” kind of depends a lot on, among other things, the time in which the work was written. When satire was new (or newish when Jonathan Swift wrote “A Modest Proposal”), it was considered experimental. When Thomas Pynchon started turning out postmodern novels, they were considered very experimental. When Donald Barthelme and John Barth garnered attention for their whip-smart metafiction, that shit was definitely seen as experimental!

Likewise, when Nicholson Baker wrote The Mezzanine, almost no one outside of academia was using footnotes in their writing. It was certainly the first book I’d ever read that used footnotes just for fun. The Mezzanine also played a lot with time dilation in that it was an entire novel that takes place during the course of a single escalator ride.

These days, it’s almost experimental to “simply” (air quotes here) write novellas or 1,000 page epics (see Adam Levin’s The Instructions and John Sayles’s A Moment in the Sun, both published by McSweeney’s). Maybe writing “experimentally” is as simple as keeping readers guessing as to what you’ll write next.

And by that token, Pynchon’s Inherent Vice might be his most experimental effort to date due to its overall general linearity and readability. Just forget Gravity’s Rainbow.

In the end, I suppose this entire column has been one giant protracted exercise in thinking (typing?) out loud that really has no concrete answer.

I mean, for me, personally, I can think of a couple ways I, as a writer, would “sell out” that have less to do with writing than they do about cold, hard cash: (e.g.) if, say, Google wanted to pay off my car loan (~$15k), I’d let them paint their multi-colored corporate logo all over my Volvo C30. To that end, if Google also offered to take care of my student loan debt (~$50k), I’d get a giant Google tattoo across my back, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

Seriously.

I don’t rock the shirtless look that often anyway.

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