I was always taught that wisdom and virtue come from hard work, but, as life would have it, they sometimes derive from happenstance. Take the following tale of publishing a book on the web.
My husband, Peter Plagens, is a painter and an art critic. Although he’s hardly the first such combo (Fairfield Porter and Donald Judd come immediately to mind), it’s not an easy row to hoe. Socially, other artists see the artist/critic opportunistically (if I’m nice to him he’ll review my work) or as an obstacle (he doesn’t like me, won’t review my work, and is preventing me from getting my career due). And when the artist/critic exhibits his or her work, viewers can’t help themselves from looking at the work in terms of the writing.
No one, then, aspires to become an artist/critic; instead, one falls into the role. To do it successfully, artist/critics must be fiercely grounded in their own work, while nurturing a certain degree of catholic taste toward other artists’ art.
Not content to be an artist/critic, my husband also tries his hand at writing novels. His first novel — a surreal tale of multiple narratives set in impossible, non-linear time — was published by a small, esoteric press and read by a handful of hardy readers. I liked it, of course (what’s a wife for?), but the book wasn’t for everyone.
Now he’s written a second novel — The Art Critic, whose protagonist is — surprise surprise — an art critic. This novel is what you’d call “accessible” (i.e., it’s easy to follow the plot), and having read it, I would say that if you want to know about what goes on inside an art critic’s head as he floats around the art world, it’s a hoot to read.
But it’s even more accessible by being published on the Web. Last week, Walter Robinson, editor of Artnet Magazine on artnet.com> began publishing The Art Critic, and the book is set to appear in 24 weekly installments.
One of the first responses to the publicity blitz (otherwise known as shooting an e-mail to everyone you’ve managed to get into your e-mail address book) came from Paul Fry, a long-time friend who’s a professor of English at Yale. Paul congratulated Peter for choosing to publish the novel in 24 installments — apparently a standard number of chapters for 19th-century novelists delivering their novels to the reading public via newspapers. My husband didn’t know that, but — enjoying appearing learned — he hasn’t told Paul he didn’t.
Meanwhile, over at artblog, Roberta Fallon posted a link to The Art Critic. She found the first installment a little long for Web reading (only the young like Web-reading, and then only if it’s short), but she, too, liked the return to the Dickensian form.
Roberta also sent an e-mail to Peter congratulating him for having gone “green” in his publishing. That, too was a pleasure. Although my husband and I, like all good citizens, are always struggling to be green, neither of us had considered how green Peter would be by publishing on the Web.
So, by coloring himself Dickensian Green, my husband is both wise and virtuous. Well, to a few people, at least.
