Coasting

Today finished that odd little anthology of pieces, poetry and prose, entitled Coast (in which all the pieces are entitled Coast, geddit?) that I bought at Books Actually a little while back. I mentioned in an earlier post that Alfian Sa'at's contribution was the best so far, and this remained the case to the end. In fact, a few of the offerings were not exactly first-rate, or even second- for that matter) but that didn't spoil my read.

The truth is, I think reading weak stuff that claims to be lit is a fruitful activity in a number of ways. For starters, it puts you on your critical mettle - you're forced to make a judgement along the lines of, If this doesn't work what's gone wrong, or is it just me? Also, unless you're in a destructive frame of mind, you can have fun sorting the wheat from the chaff: Which bits of this would be worth keeping or indicate that the writer isn't completely beyond the pale?

Most important, at least for me, is the sense of trying to connect with the concerns of much younger writers than myself - for the most part - and figuring out what's fueling them. At times this is little more than adolescent (or post-adolescent) angst, but as Don Paterson wisely points out that's pretty much what fuels the reality of feeling behind Shakespeare's Sonnets, and if it was good enough for him...