The Cry of the Sloth Read Online Free PDF Page A

journal (my ex-wife Jolie was the other), and I have been the sole editor for lo these seven years. No one who has seen any of the recent issues, among our strongest, could possibly surmise the painful truth—that the magazine is, if not on its deathbed, then staggering dangerously toward it. Unless it receives a transfusion of real money soon it will certainly expire. (But don’t worry, I’m not asking you for
that
sort of help). The demise of
Soap
would not be of great moment to anyone but me and a few hundred loyal subscribers and contributors except for the fact that there is
absolutely nothing
to take its place. Imagine: a region the size of France and not a single venue for first-class work by local writers. For seven years, beginning with our first issue of just three mimeographed pages, I have striven with Poundian fury to put work of that caliber in front of the public, and I’ve done this not simply without the
support
of our local so-called art leaders but in the face of their active
opposition
. (I say opposition rather than sabotage only because I have no material proof.) Without
Soap
’s voice—however shrill it may sound sometimes to some people—the entire region would be defined by the vulgar populism of works like Sokal’s
Moon Light and Moon Dark
, a depressing example if there ever was one of the sort of book esteemed here today. But of course, having grown up here, you know all about that. And yet we keep on going, you and I. And for me, besides the slow insect-like construction of my own works—I am currently laboring on an odd little something which I suppose we’ll have to call a novel—keeping on means keeping
Soap
afloat.
    Racking my brains, I have come up with an idea for next April or May that I think will turn the trick, generate the needed funds, and at the same time land us on the map of public opinion.
Soap
is going to host a weekend of symposiums, lectures, workshops, and readings. The idea is to take real avant-garde literary works and under the slogan “Far Out is Fun” fling them like gauntlets in the face of an astonished public. In the same spirit, I am thinking of inviting street performers to come in during the breaks, and maybe also at mealtimes, or does that seem to you over the top? We don’t want anything that might drown out the discussions, which I anticipate will be lively and contentious, so maybe just fire-eaters, jugglers, and the like, and no musicians unless it’s some barely audible ones off in a corner, harpists and such. I’ve been working to come up with a name for the event. How does “The Words on Fire National Conference” strike you? Is that just too flat? And do you think “Festival” would be better than “Conference”? I go back and forth on that one. I want to suggest a celebratory spirit, but I don’t want it to sound like a big party. I’ve been talking this thing up locally for a couple of months now, and the response so far has been terrific. Unless I run things on into the wee hours, we are not going to have nearly enough room on the schedule for all the events people have suggested. There is just an
amazing
hunger out there for something like this. A big question still up in the air, though, is the name of the person who will give the Awards Lecture. That lecture, along with the subsequent banquet and formal dance, is going to be the biggest bang of the whole shebang. The downtown Grand Hotel has just refurbished the splendid old Hoover Ballroom, and I’m told a few of our local bands are quite good (I myself hardly ever listen to music). I’ve had lots of unsuitable suggestions for the speaker, and to those I’ve responded with only a noncommittal nod. That’s because I’ve had you in mind from the outset but have held the idea close to my chest in case you’re booked for that week. I can’t pay you in advance, but I can promise a reimbursement of expenses plus a modest honorarium after the event. Your presence will close the