Rhetorical Analysis - Granta

Granta: The Magazine of New Writing

Granta is a magazine with a long history, having made several comebacks over a period of 130 years. It was founded in 1889 in Cambridge, England, and published the works of Cambridge scholars. Over the years, it has included works by Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes, Zadie Smith, Bill Bryson, and Kazuo Ishiguro. It bills itself as “The Magazine of New Writing” and that bears true in the submission guidelines: the magazine accepts only first run works. Otherwise, the magazine publishes essays, stories, poems, and photographic essays on a variety of topics.
In terms of audience and purpose, the magazine is less clear. Beyond a desire to publish only new writing, the magazine’s website indicates that “Granta does not have a literary or political manifesto, but it does have a belief in the power and urgency of the story, both in fiction and non-fiction, and the story’s supreme ability to describe, illuminate, and make real” (http://www.granta.com). Granta publishes both non-fiction, in categories it breaks down variously as “Non-Fiction”, “Reportage”, and “Memoir”, and fiction in each issue.
One item of note with regard to Granta is that each issue has a theme, which may be broad or narrow. The issue currently on newsstands as this is written is #112, is themed “Pakistan”, and contains works by and about Pakistanis and Pakistan, including the land and its people. This issue contained less creative nonfiction. The issue prior, #111, was themed “Going Back”, and contained works that dealt with characters reflecting on past loves, once popular music or styles, and reconsidering the continued relevance of favorite authors. The essays "Mum and Fritz" and "Utterly Dylan" are examples of the creative nonfiction they have accepted.
This may make it sound like the magazine will accept anything, but this is not entirely true. Their submission guidelines are a list of what they will not accept: book reviews, academic essays, straight reporting, genre fiction, or travel writing without a story. The magazine emphasizes the desire for a narrative focus, and a “point”, in all submissions. It also says that some pieces may bend or break these rules at times, but that in general they hold. Granta reminds those interested in submitting work that they receive a huge number of submissions each day, of which they are unable to publish most, despite how well some of them may be written.
As far as the technical elements of a submission:
• Do not submit works previously published in English.
• Submit no more than two stories or five poems at any one time.
• Do not submit by email, as Granta only accepts post submissions.
• Granta will not return unsuccessful submissions, so there is no need to include a SASE.
• Granta does not acknowledge receipt of submissions, and tries to read all submissions within three months of receipt. A response will be emailed after that time indicating whether or not the submission will be published.
• The cover letter need only include a brief summary of the piece as well as where you have published works previously.
• The maximum length is 4000 words.
There is no definite indication of the pay scale of Granta, except that the pay for submissions varies and generally is based on the market rates. The magazine buys at least the world English language rights and first serial rights in unsolicited manuscripts.

Course Reflection

At the beginning of the course, we were asked to consider the definition of creative nonfiction. We were asked that several times, actually, to the extent that the question became almost dreaded. At the time, it seemed like almost anything could be creative nonfiction; however, now I realize that the generalization is not quite correct. I believe I was not making enough of a distinction between subject and style. After reading many examples of the genre, what I would now say is that creative nonfiction is an attempt to understand a particular subject, which can be an event, person, idea, or almost anything really, by examining it and relating to it through personal experience and objective observation. The question of whether or not something is creative nonfiction becomes one of technique.
When this class first met, there would have been almost no way I could have written anything that I thought was creative nonfiction. I am still not entirely convinced, though I believe I have made several strides toward that goal. The body of writing that was required for this course was daunting. We wrote journal entries from prompts in most of the classes for the first two months, which was surprisingly difficult for me. I never felt that I was producing anything worthy of being read aloud, whereas my classmates’ journal entries seemed to be much deeper and more evocative of whatever the prompt called for. I wondered if I was able to make it in this course, if I were able to be honest enough with myself.
To get over this, I decided that wading in slowly was not the answer. My first essay, on my problems with anger, mined my darkest thoughts and laid them out for people to see. Once I dove in, the remaining essays became much easier. My second and third essays were, I thought, much better examples of the requested type of writing. I am particularly proud of the third essay, even though I know it needs an actual conclusion and ending. While I struggled with the fourth essay, I still feel that I have a better understanding of how to go about constructing a creative nonfiction essay. The revision process has been something of a challenge. I think my main challenge is trying to disassociate myself from what are very personal topics. It is almost contradictory, or perhaps counter-intuitive, to look at these types of essays so objectively that I can analyze them. I feel that I need to read more examples of creative nonfiction, to understand better the literary techniques and include them in my own work. Such critical analysis of others’ examples will likely help me in revising my own work as well.
The blog was another struggle for me. Just as I was uncomfortable sharing work in class, so too am I uncomfortable with posting anything on the web, especially as there was no way I could limit access. Posting that first essay, on anger, on a blog that theoretically anyone could view was a giant leap for me. I still have some reservations about posting on a blog. I wonder whether there may be legal issues with trying to publish something in print that I previously published on a blog. Still, now that I have grown in confidence I feel better about the blog, and I may continue it or create a new one once the class is over.
I think the main benefit of this course has been to increase my confidence in my abilities as a writer, which have been long underused. Most of the issues that I had at the beginning of the course trace back to confidence. I hope, by the end of the course (which is fast approaching) to read something in front of the class.

Reflective Analysis Rough Draft

At the beginning of the course, we were asked to consider the definition of creative nonfiction. We were asked that several times, actually, to the extent that the question became almost dreaded. At the time, it seemed like almost anything could be creative nonfiction; however, now I realize that the generalization is not quite correct. I believe I was not making enough of a distinction between subject and style. After reading many examples of the genre, what I would now say is that creative nonfiction is an attempt to understand a particular subject, which can be an event, person, idea, or almost anything really, by examining it and relating to it through personal experience and objective observation. The question of whether or not something is creative nonfiction becomes one of technique.
When this class first met, there would have been almost no way I could have written anything that I thought was creative nonfiction. I am still not entirely convinced, though I believe I have made several strides toward that goal. The body of writing that was required for this course was daunting. We wrote journal entries from prompts in most of the classes for the first two months, which was surprisingly difficult for me. I never felt that I was producing anything worthy of being read aloud, whereas my classmates’ journal entries seemed to be much deeper and more evocative of whatever the prompt called for. I wondered if I was able to make it in this course, if I were able to be honest enough with myself.
To get over this, I decided that wading in slowly was not the answer. My first essay, on my problems with anger, mined my darkest thoughts and laid them out for people to see. Once I dove in, the remaining essays became much easier. My second and third essays were, I thought, much better examples of the requested type of writing. I am particularly proud of the third essay, even though I know it needs an actual conclusion and ending. While I struggled with the fourth essay, I still feel that I have a better understanding of how to go about constructing a creative nonfiction essay. The revision process has been something of a challenge. I think my main challenge is trying to disassociate myself from what are very personal topics. It is almost contradictory, or perhaps counter-intuitive, to look at these types of essays so objectively that I can analyze them. I feel that I need to read more examples of creative nonfiction, to understand better the literary techniques and include them in my own work. Such critical analysis of others’ examples will likely help me in revising my own work as well.
The blog was another struggle for me. Just as I was uncomfortable sharing work in class, so too am I uncomfortable with posting anything on the web, especially as there was no way I could limit access. Posting that first essay, on anger, on a blog that theoretically anyone could view was a giant leap for me. I still have some reservations about posting on a blog. I wonder whether there may be legal issues with trying to publish something in print that I previously published on a blog. Still, now that I have grown in confidence I feel better about the blog, and I may continue it or create a new one once the class is over.
I think the main benefit of this course has been to increase my confidence in my abilities as a writer, which have been long underused. Most of the issues that I had at the beginning of the course trace back to confidence. I hope, by the end of the course (which is fast approaching) to read something in front of the class.

Audience and Literary Journals

The audience for my work would probably vary. My essays have been all over the place. I expect that the essay on Wildwood would be of interest to anyone who has visited it with any kind of frequency. This is possibly the most widely interesting essay, so I would be comfortable sending it to any literary journal that dealt with travel, or a more generic one like New Letters or Granta, if the theme matches, since almost every issue of Granta has a theme. The others I am not sure about. There were no hits I could find for journals that consider gaming in particular, and so I don't know where I should look for a market for the gaming piece. I don't know quite what "fits" means in this context. I am working on making these essays more like what "literary" readers would like. Ideally they will become the kind of thing that shows up in The New Yorker or Harpers someday.

Essay 4 - Is the Customer Always Right?

“Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if I could ask you about a question about a magazine.” Of course, ma’am, I reply. Helping customers with questions is, after all, one of the reasons I’m here. “I see this issue on the shelf, but it’s a few months old. Is there a newer one?” Well, I explain, it’s difficult to tell with magazines, because we don’t list them in the computer the same way we list books, but of course I’ll try. In looking it up, it seems like there is a newer issue. Going over to the shelf, the magazine isn’t there. This is not that unusual, I explain. It may have sold out, or perhaps a few of the copies came in damaged, I explain. This seems to be a normal customer interaction, up until…now.
“Well, sir, I was wondering if there is any way I could get a discount on this issue, since it’s older.” I look at the magazine again. It is in good condition. It doesn’t look like it has ever been handled before. Excuse me, ma’am, I say. I’m not sure I follow. “Well, you said yourself that there is a newer issue out. Should I have to pay full price for this old one?” Well, I reply with growing incredulity, the magazine is still full of articles that contain useful information. The new issue would simply have different articles. I can’t really offer a discount because it isn’t the current issue. After all, it isn’t exactly going stale. Only I don’t say that last part, naturally. “Is that your store policy,” she asks. Is what our store policy? Charging the listed price on the merchandise we sell? Yes, ma’am, yes, it is. “Is there anyone else I can speak to about this?” You are welcome to speak to the store manager, though he is not in today. But yes, I would be happy to take your name and number so he can contact you about this issue.
Such is one instance in the life of a retail sales person. What is it about shopping that makes people check their brains at the door? Yes, there is an open invitation into the store. We don’t discriminate. We are a Place of Public Accommodation; however, this is no one’s home, so please don’t act as though it were. Please, put that child’s shoes back on her, and perhaps your own as well. Thanks so much. No, we are not a library, but does that conversation need to be yelled into that cell phone so loudly the entire store can hear it? Probably not, and particularly not when it sounds like an episode of some soap opera. Who is sleeping with whom? And whom else? Never mind. I don’t really want to know, and no one else does either.
It has never ceased to amaze me how little concern people show for things that are not theirs. I understand that people coming in aren’t all looking to purchase. Window shopping and browsing around are things I enjoy. We like to maintain a stock breadth commensurate with the interest of our shopping public. Yes, we have about twelve different travel guides to the state of Hawaii. Was it really necessary to take one of each over to the café to browse through? How long was it going to take to go through them all? And did the one that the coffee dripped on have to be hidden in the middle of the pile? We found it, of course. We always do.
The real estate market may be difficult outside, but inside the store, it’s an outright war. Unquestionably, one of the first customers into the store will go right to the café to pick out their preferred tables, and they will leave their belongings there and then browse around the store. Other customers stake out the comfy-chairs like homesteaders during the Oklahoma land rush. Consider this instance. “Manager to Customer Service,” the overhead said. Oh, I thought, they’re playing my song. Walking over, I see an older customer looking unhappy. In introduce myself, and ask how I may be of assistance. “I want you to call the police.” Well, ma’am, could you please give me a few more details? That isn’t something I do lightly, I explain. “I put my things down on one of the chairs over by the magazines and then went to look around, and when I came back someone had moved them and was sitting in the chair. I want you to call the police and have her arrested.” Well, ma’am, that is not exactly something I can get involved in. It doesn’t affect the store in any way, since it’s between two customers, I tell her. This is not exactly true, but this woman seems to be a few chips shy of a batch of cookies anyway, and I would simply prefer to diffuse the situation. We don’t take responsibility for items that customers leave unattended, I continue. That really is the customer’s responsibility alone. She walked away, somewhat unhappy, but calmed. If you knew how many of those we’ve thrown away because people had “accidents” in them, you probably wouldn’t want to sit there anyway. I probably should have said that, for her own sake, but I didn’t.
The store also becomes a battleground between opposing political ideologies. This happens regularly. It would be impossible to stop it. It’s particularly bad during an election year, when publishers rush out any book they can dealing with the political upheavals approaching, and it manifests in two ways. Part of it stems from the customers’ unfailing belief that, even though a book is a bestseller and all their friends are talking about it, they are going to be the only person looking for it on any given day. Of course, it should be in stock, and for their convenience displayed right at the front of the store. This has the potential of happening with any book, but it’s much more fun when it happens with a political book. When it’s a political book, not having it on-hand means that we are obviously supporting the left/right-wing agenda, and are bleeding-heart liberals/neo-fascist conservatives, and so forth and so on. What customers tend to forget in these instances is that we are a business. We would sell almost anything that a customer was interested in purchasing. Actually, we don’t have the book because our initial shipment sold out faster than we could be resupplied. While we’re on the topic of political books, it does no good to hide the books written from opposing political views by covering them up with other books. Yes, there are a number of books out now with President Obama’s face on the cover. They aren’t all pro-Obama. Hiding them all behind the new Michael Savage or Bill O’Reilly book is pointless. We know we didn’t face-out those books in five different places. We will figure out what was done, and demean the culprit in absentia for doing it.
Political and social prejudices manifest themselves in other ways in the bookstore. Where books are placed in the store is very important to some customers. Also, what books are next to them becomes an issue. I will never forget the customer who was upset that the African-American Studies section was located next to the Gay & Lesbian Studies section. “Why is this section here?” she asked. We try to keep similar topics together, ma’am, and so all of the sections that deal with special-interest groups are follow one another. See, it goes from History, into Current Affairs, into Cultural Studies, African-American Studies, Gay & Lesbian Studies, Women’s Studies, Native American Studies, etc. “Well, I don’t think it should be here”, she replied, as though hers should be the final word, and walked off. Where should we put it ma’am? The back of the bus…I mean store? Of course I didn’t say that.
Returns are always an issue. Our return policy is simple: only within two weeks, only with a receipt, only in saleable condition. If all three of those conditions are not met, we are not obligated to take back a return. To be sure, we make exceptions. Life is full of circumstances, and yes, we are human. We do make the assumption that someone who shops in a bookstore has the ability to read the return policy for themselves. Some interpretations have been particularly interesting. One customer insisted that the policy was worded in such a way that she needed only to have a receipt or come in within two weeks to get the refund. When I spelled out for her exactly what the wording meant, she replied that she had a college degree, and knew that it meant what she had insisted upon. We went back and forth for several minutes as I tried to explain certain grammatical rules to her, but she insisted on her reading. Finally, I gave up. Okay ma’am, we will do this return for you, but just so you know, you are wrong. And yes, that was what really what I said.
My favorite customer interaction happened quite a while ago. This customer was pleasant, and had a simple request. She came up and asked, “Excuse me, but do you have any books on the meaning of names?” Well, yes, ma’am, we do. We have a whole section of books for baby names, I replied, and I turned to show her the way. “Well”, she continued behind me, “do you have any books with adult names?” Thankfully, I was facing away, because it was all I could do not to laugh. And for once, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Essay 4 - Rough Notes

I can't even really call this a draft.  It's barely anything at the moment.  But here it is, a beginning, and maybe something like a conclusion.

...
The sounds of simmering coming from the pot on the stove are a welcome, restful sound.  It is a sound that recalls a mother's (or father's) cooking dinner, holiday gatherings, the communion of friends and family.  This recipe, for Chai-Spiced Stone-Fruit Chutney, is not one that appears in my family's repertoire.  Time alone will tell if it becomes a part of mine.

The time is long past when recipes were learned solely by watching and learning from a parent - a mother, most likely.  This recipe came from a cookbook, Five Ingredients of Less, which is not unusual.  Cookbooks have been around for ages, and in widely published forms for over a century.  But this cookbook is based not on any family collection or cultural adaptation, but on a program of the same name that airs on the Food Network.

...
Finished, the chutney smells spicy sweet.  It thickens as it cooks, and the little remaining juice becomes like jelly around the chopped fruit.  It tastes much like it smells: spiced from the chai tea, slightly sour and tart from cherries and pomegranate juice, and sweet from the apricots.  Paired with a leftover roasted chicken, it revitalizes the dish.  It breathes new life into the meat, warming it in a way the oven can't even match. 

Descriptive Scene

This is the descriptive writing for the class:

The brown-and-orange tablecloth bunches in undulating waves against the weight of the basket that dominates the table.  These waves – the wake of something larger, perhaps - carry with them papers, letters, a coaster, and the odd magazine - Saveur, some catalogs – all are borne along on the cresting cloth.  The basket, full of plastic-and-cloth flowers, is largely unmoved though it has been pushed slightly askew from the centered position it would normally hold.  The wooden surface is unchanged by the drama that is playing out across its surface, though it is not entirely unaffected.  The faintest traces remain of the energy that propelled the cloth and the flowers. This evidence sits on the edge, balancing precariously between stability and descent: a small, cotton-like tuft of something.  It quivers in a breeze nothing else seems to feel.  Is the momentum that created it still, somehow, trapped within?  The cause of this disorder peeks her whiskered face innocently from around the corner of the table, unaware of the effect the force of her passage has had, as the tuft of her fur tries to decide its fate one foot above.

Essay 3. No idea what to call it.

            The Rio Grande is the way in.  Not to Mexico; this Rio Grande is not a river between the nations.  This one is Rio Grande Ave, the thoroughfare between mainland New Jersey and the Wildwoods, the collection of communities that comprises one of the state’s most popular vacation destinations.  It’s actually an interesting inverse.  Instead of being a river of water between two nations of land, it’s a narrow channel of road between the ocean and the bay.  It is the gateway to vacation.  From Rio Grande Ave, one can access the four major roads that run the length of the island of Wildwood: the Atlantic, Pacific, Ocean, and Seaview Avenues. 

            It’s a familiar trip.  I’ve made it almost every year that I can remember, and I apparently made it for a number of years that I can’t remember.  There are photos as evidence that I was there, in the case of the years I can’t remember personally.  In fact, given that I was born in September, right after the summer vacation season, I can safely say that I was there before I was even born.  After so many trips, I can almost recite the path.  I know it by the sights, which remain largely the same, and by the smell of the brackish water, which Rio Grande passes beside and over as it bridges land and island. 

            One of the first landmarks that will be visible is the Boathouse restaurant, which will appear on the right of someone coming over the bridge into Wildwood.  Behind it, slightly, is the dock where the Silver Bullet speedboat picks up the passengers for the high-speed tour it offers.  Just across the street is Urie’s, a restaurant whose continued popularity and, in fact, existence are a source of wonder for me every time I see it.  Cconsidering the unfortunate dining experiences we’ve had there, I wonder how it can be anyone’s favorite.    

            Our favorite restaurant was probably Johnson’s Family Restaurant.  That was our first choice when we were children.  Or that was our parent’s choice for us, but whichever, we were happy with it.  We were always there for the early bird specials.  I remember the kids menu, where names like “The Cowboy” or “The Giraffe” would be a turkey dinner, or spaghetti and meatballs, or whatever.  I remember the fish tank in the center, with the live lobsters.  We never ordered lobster.  I don’t actually remember anyone ever ordering lobster, actually.  Perhaps this wasn’t the kind of restaurant where lobster eaters went.  The tank may have been there for entertaining the children who came to dine.  It was a staple of our summer vacation until the year we went out to eat there and found it closed, after a kitchen fire.  It never reopened.  Now the building houses an Uncle Bill’s Pancake House, a shore chain which, while good, is hardly the same.  They do still have the Johnson’s sign though, hanging inside.  It is a nice link for people like us who remember the former restaurant. 

            Driving down Rio Grande Ave this year, we noticed that something had changed.  The Harley-Davidson dealership, in a distinctive doo-wop style building had closed and reopened as Wildwood Cycles.  The dealership had been there for 35 years, longer than I had been around to see it.  Pictures of it were features in a book on Wildwood that was published earlier this year.  And while it may be the same family that owns it, it is just another item on the list of things that is different.

            Every year for the last few years, I’ve been on the lookout for things that are different.  Last year, we drove out to find the miniature golf and ice cream shop combination that we had been going to for at least ten years.  We drove around, and then around again, thinking perhaps we had missed it or forgotten the address.  We hadn’t; there was a drugstore where it had been.  We drove back to the motel.  There wasn’t anything else we felt like doing.

            The motel we’ve stayed at for the last few years is the Imperial 500.  This is a more recent development in our vacationing history.  For many years, we stayed at a motel called the Nomad.  I remember the sign had something round that was either a compass or a ship’s wheel.  I accepted the name without question for years, until one day it struck me that it probably meant something.  I remember thinking how appropriate a name it was when I learned the definition.  The motel itself was nice.  It had a pool with a waterslide, and a laundry/gaming room where I used to spend time and quarters when I was a child.  It once had a little diner facing the shore, but that was closed up years ago.  I remember it being open, and getting egg and cheese sandwiches, and chocolate milk, and my father getting coffee. 

            We would have been staying there still, except that the motel was sold to developers several years ago.  We didn’t know at first.  My mother tried calling every year to make reservations, and couldn’t get through to the motel.  She thought it was a temporary phone problem, and tried again several days later, then again, until she began to get worried that she would not be able to get a reservation for the time we wanted.  She called Wildwood’s chamber of commerce, who informed her that the motel was closed.  By the time we got down there in August of that year, the building had been completely demolished.  By the next time I was there, the condominiums were already up.

            There have always been condominiums in Wildwood.  They dominated the very southern tip of the crest, past the area where we used to stay.  They were very exclusive, many of them gated.  It was something my parents dreamed of, having a permanent place down the shore.  They, like many people in the surrounding states – and Quebec – settled for weeklong vacations in the motels that lined the shore of Wildwood Crest. 

            This longstanding demographic is changing.  Over the last few years, many of the so-called Doo-Wop motels of Wildwood have been sold off to developers, and now condominiums start farther north than they did when I was a child.  This is why the National Trust for Historic Preservation placed the entire area on its list of “America’s Most Endangered Places” back in 2006.  Their concern illuminated the issue, but has not stopped the sale of land and the transformation of motel properties into condominium developments.    

            Once there was an area of Wildwood where the streets were blocked off.  The sidewalks were decoratively tiled, and a number of small shops and restaurants opened.  We used to go there when I was a child.  There was a shop my sisters and I looked forward to, where they sold beach and ocean toys and other knickknacks.  There was a barbecue restaurant there, Cassidy’s, one of few on the island.  At first, every storefront was full.  Then perhaps, one or two might be empty.  Now there are only a few stores or restaurants there.  If people want to walk around small shops, they go into Cape May and hobnob with the bed-and-breakfast crowd. 

            Even the Boardwalk, the most popular group of attractions in Wildwood, has not emerged unscathed.  There was once a pier on the boardwalk that had small shops, but now it is gone.  Our favorite candy shop, Douglass, is still there, but the Atlantic Bookstore that was a popular stop is not.  Each year, it seems like more and more goes away.  The condo owners require fewer restaurants, and less entertainment; consequently, they feed less money into the local economy, and businesses close.  As developments take over more of the island, the change in demographics will undoubtedly force many more of our favorites to close down. 

Further Thoughts on Essay 3

The real problem is, I don't actually have much in the way of thoughts on essay 3.  I am still thinking about doing something about cooking.  The problem is that I don't know what exactly to say about cooking.  Actually, the problem is that we've done so much work on "I" essays, I am thinking only in terms of topics and their relation to me.  From the "eye" essays we have read, it seems like the idea should be more externally related.  I could do something about the "foodie" revolution.  I've been a fan of the Food Network since its inception, before Rachael Ray, Emeril, and Iron Chef.  In the beginning it was David Rosengarten, Two Hot Tamales, and a cooking game show, the name of which I can no longer remember.  That was probably fourteen or more years ago now - yes, really that long.  It's amazing to see how far that little channel based on cooking has come.  Now their chefs are celebrities and have brands based on them.  The Food Network even publishes a monthly magazine.  So, maybe this revolution would be something to write about.  I've participated in it on various levels.  Does that make me a participant observer?