It’s a bit odd to accuse Emily Gould of “narcissism” or “navel-gazing” for having written a New York Times Magazine cover story about her experiences as a blogger. It is in fact a personal essay. Such essays often involve the first person singular, yet somehow we manage not to accuse Joan Didion and Richard Rodriguez of excessive self-love.
The essay is dull because it’s a formulaic redemption narrative, not because it invokes its author. Girl blogs, hurts friends/lovers, despairs, does some other stuff, finds forgiveness, and learns value of kindness and discretion except in instances where the Times Magazine is paying $3 a word. Plug in “drink excessively” every time Gould employs the dubious verb “overshare,” and you’ve got James Frey without the lying. Condemn her if you like, but she’ll laugh all the way to a fat book contract and Oprah endorsement.
Essentially, this is crack for old people who spend their time worrying about “our culture of voyeurism.” But you can’t have a proper moral panic without a talk-show-ready cadre of reformed, redeemed victims, so bring it on, I guess.
[...] sociology or anthropology) of being an oversharer. Instead, we get Gould’s redemption story (replace drink too much with overshare and you get James Frey without the lying!), with very little insight into why people share so much and why readers are so fascinated with [...]
[...] sociology or anthropology) of being an oversharer. Instead, we get Gould’s redemption story (replace drink too much with overshare and you get James Frey without the lying!), with very little insight into why people share so much and why readers are so fascinated with [...]
[...] Kerry Howley puts it [...]
I actually agree with you, in a way–the operative word in my post was “dreck,” not “navel-gazing.” It’s just a bad, bad essay, personal or no. But that terribleness is certainly compounded by the obsessively personal nature of the subject matter.
I would also argue that the difference between Didion’s work and Gould’s essay is more than talent. Didion’s essays were personal, yes, but there was typically something deeper at work–the lead essay in ‘After Henry,’ for example, is personal AND a tribute to a fallen friend AND an examination of the relationship between a writer and an editor. Gould’s ‘New York Times Magazine’ piece had the potential to be a really interesting, subversive look inside the workings of a gossip blog and how that impacted her life, and, most importantly, what that means to the rest of us. Instead, we’re treated to 8,000 words about her problems. There’s no deeper insight than “Man, I sure have made a mess of my life. Maybe if I keep writing about it people will still care. Please care. I’m lonely out of the spotlight. I need your attention. I crave it. You want personal secrets? Here, here you go! Love me!”
Just one man’s thoughts…