Dan Fishback: Hiding behind stories in an incoherent world

Last night at Peacefest, an anti-war concert/fundraiser, a girl stopped me and asked me if we'd be hearing any "political speeches." I was like, "Do you want to?" and she was like, "Yes." As event promoters, we hadn't accounted for this demand. Earlier that day, for the fifth and final time, I went to "columnist training" at the DP office. At the beginning of every semester, the editorial page editor gathers us all in a room and tells us how to be good journalists, how to "have a voice" and how to "tell a story." The latter is usually quite key. He'll pass around a packet of old columns -- model columns -- and tell us what we should emulate. This semester's Big Packet was rather impressive. We had some old DP all-stars, reflecting on sandwiches, Wing Bowl, the UA and Wing Bowl. I'm not being sarcastic or tongue-in-cheek when I say it was all fine writing. But why was I so annoyed by my editor for waxing on and on about the importance of telling stories? "The best columns are stories!" "Start in one place, take the reader somewhere and end up some place different." At Peacefest, while my bandmate was tuning guitars, I went up to the microphone to fill some silence. I figured I'd give one of those "political speeches." But no sooner did two words come out than did I realize that the anti-war movement isn't too sound-byte-able. I kept thinking, "What's the bottom line? What's the story here? Which of the countless narrative threads should I access, and what do I do when narrative inevitably unravels, as it must in all political storytelling?" I ended up talking for around 30 seconds about how aggressive American behavior provokes terrorism. I left out much. "The best columns are stories!" There's this newspaper style that I've never really liked. I respect it, but it's not my cup of tea. I call it "The Newspaper-Man Style." It's the style of passionate newspaper men, waxing sentimentally about playing catch with Pa, or that old diner that transcends its grease or that astounding quarterback who broke his neck saving puppies from a burning building. Do you know what style I'm talking about? I honestly don't mean to disparage, since there are few more honorable outlets for American masculinity in a world of firing ranges and Smokes. There was just something odd about seeing this style in page after page of this semester's Big Packet. At the back were a few professional sports columns. (The very notion of a sports column is completely beyond my comprehension. How much could you possibly say?) "The best columns are stories! This packet has some good stuff in it -- good stories." I think a lot of people associate The Newspaper-Man Style with a sense of honesty and integrity. The style itself conjures the image of a sinewy young guy, old-looking for his age, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his back hunched over an old typewriter, clacking away by lamplight about any old thing, but always with that sense of calm earnestness -- digging to the core of complexity and finding the simple narrative strain that can dissolve the chaos. It feels like Jimmy Stewart, ya know? But I don't really trust Jimmy Stewart right now. Nor do I trust any old filmic masculine archetype. Certainly not after George W. Bush's stirring State of the Union address/Cowboy Movie Trailer: "Many [other terrorists] have met a different fate. Let's put it this way -- they are no longer a problem to the United States." "The best columns are stories!" Come to think of it, I don't really trust stories either. I've become wildly skeptical of any coherent narrative. I hear a well-told story and think, "What did you leave out? What did you lie about?" I hear the president's Iraq narrative and think, "But you're forgetting the rest of the world! How will our actions affect our relationship with the international community? At what cost?!" Then I hear the narrative from the far left and think, "Yeah, but you're not addressing national security at all! How do you expect to fight terrorism, let alone build an anti-war movement, if you ignore this reasonable concern!" The best columns can't be stories. If I present a coherent narrative, odds are I'm keeping something from you. In a coherent world, perhaps The Newspaper Man can weave a pleasing yarn about the first girl he took to the drive-in. In a fragmented, paradoxical world... well... happy reading.

Please note All comments are eligible for publication in The Daily Pennsylvanian.