Jonathan Franzen’s new book, The Kraus Project, is a strange bird: a translation, by Franzen, of century-old essays by the Viennese satirist Karl Kraus with essay-length footnotes that apply Kraus to contemporary affairs and recount the romantic and artistic struggles of Franzen’s youth. In those footnotes, Franzen—as you may have heard—laments much of what the Internet has done to American letters. But the book does not really constitute a dismissal of Internet writing. In fact, its eccentric, Weblike structure—there are footnotes to footnotes of footnotes—provides a model for intellectually serious blogging.
Kraus, Franzen argues, was essentially a blogger. In 1899 he started a magazine, Die Fackel (The Torch) that, from 1911 until his death in 1936, devoted all its page space to one contributor: Karl Kraus. And in true blogger style, Kraus cast himself as a scourge of the mainstream media. He rained scorn on writers and publications he considered overrated and shallow—the first essay translated here, “Heine and the Consequences,” is a takedown of one of the most beloved figures in German literature. The second essay, “Nestroy and Posterity,” uses the obscurity of the satirical playwright Johann Nestroy as the basis for a rant about Viennese society. Kraus “would often start with a press clipping that he would reproduce and dissect,” Franzen notes, “which is the method of a lot of blogs today: cut, paste, and conquer.”
When Franzen discovered him at 22, Kraus replaced David Byrne as his hero, in large part because of his asperity. (A literary Psycho Killer superseded a musical one.) The young Franzen—who comes off here as a tragicomically alienated person, as a Franzen character, in other words—fell in love with aphorisms like, “Believe me, you color-happy people, in cultures where every blockhead has individuality, individuality becomes a thing for blockheads. And spare me this mediocre chicanery in place of one’s own stupidity!”
The above remark contains much of what is great about the Kraus essays in The Kraus Project: the anger that builds to such heights that it becomes funny and laughs at itself, even as it speaks truth to power; the disparagement of something rarely disparaged, individuality. And then there is the lionization of something rarely lionized: stupidity.
Franzen made Kraus’s contrarian outlook his own—and reading The Kraus Project one finds Franzen’s fictional project newly illuminated. In his novels, Franzen often invites the reader to laugh at the darkness hidden in supposedly happy events, and to glimpse the hope hidden in supposedly sad ones. Think of the Emerson family cookout in Freedom, where the middle-aged men hoard a bottle of old Bordeaux for themselves and leave a splash for the women. Think of the death of Alfred Lambert in The Corrections, which affords Alfred’s widow, Enid, a taste of freedom after five decades of serving him.
Kraus also taught Franzen to be skeptical about mixing journalism with the subjectivity and fanciness of literature; Franzen footnotes “Heine and the Consequences” with a quote from a terrible, pseudo-lyrical New York Times profile, to demonstrate the relevance of Kraus’ critique to contemporary newspaper writing. (“If anyone has a right to feel on top of the world, it’s Howard Stern—especially inside his elegant, cumulus-high apartment on the West Side of Manhattan, dominated by a solariumlike living room with views on one side extending far up the Hudson and the other encompassing the entire bucolic breadth of Central Park.”) Kraus writes that when reporting is mixed with loftier forms the two modes “interlard” each other; interlarding is the word Franzen uses in his second novel, Strong Motion, to describe the mingling of news and non-news in the “news with a twist” served up by a dying radio station.
But it is not just the satirical impulses and the skewering of the media that make The Kraus Project feel like an unusually well-written and substantive blog. It’s the structure as well. This book is a conversation among four writers: Kraus, Franzen, the Kraus scholar Paul Reitter, and the Austrian novelist Daniel Kehlmann. Rants by Kraus inspire rants by Franzen. Your attention flits among the four voices—part of the fun is watching how they build off one another, big-up and deflate one another. It’s a dream of what the blogosphere can be, when we blog in a less attention-seeking manner, with due respect for prose style and the complexity of truth. Reitter and Kehlmann contribute footnotes that provide historical context for Kraus’ rampages; Franzen takes up Reitter and Kehlmann’s threads, linking the intellectual situation in early 20th-century Vienna to the contemporary American scene. It’s best to think of The Kraus Project as a series of blog entries by Kraus with a comments section that is just as lively and important as the original posts.
This blogginess also offers a new perspective on what makes Franzen distinctive as a fiction writer. Part of the brilliance of Franzen’s two best novels, The Corrections and Freedom, is that each major character is afforded his or her own Krausian rant. These rants sometimes support one another and sometimes cast doubt on one another. They take the form of persuasively voiced interior monologues, but they often structurally resemble a Kraus essay, or (therefore) a Franzen essay, even as they remain grounded in the perspectives of the author’s fictional protagonists.
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