Metamodernism in a New York Moment

 Imagine being in a garden terrace where American ‘90s jazz plays and the art that hangs on the walls is a menagerie of midcentury color-swerving, obviously Picasso inspired. One particular painting strikes you, this one more Fauvist: a purple blonde clutches a pearl necklace as she emerges, orange-nippled and open-mouthed, from a parlor with sitting chair. Now imagine yourself as the painter, or voyeur or whoever, sitting comfortably in another chair watching self-satisfied. This is how I felt as I ate the steak au poivre avec pomme frites. This reminded me what it was like to be in love.

And I wish I could transmit the same feeling to you – it is so luxurious, so serene. So I looked up to the sky through the swinging beech branches that clamber over the black fire escapes and brown brick apartments and stored in my memory what New York was like.

Maybe I would do better to show you in a story of my own, how it feels to be in love. But that’s so 20th century, not metamodern at all. Or is it?

Bushwick and Swallow Cafe

This is where I do a lot of writing. I watch Gio flirt with Sam(antha), who clearly likes him. She is pretty popular in the community, being a barista and all. But there's something about the way she smiles when she talks to him that makes it clear.

I once saw her at the Post bike shop. Her wheel was badly out of true, and the dredded dudes rejected her; to fix the wheel wouldn't be worth it.

This is my bohemia, where they will remember the seedlings of post postmodernism, or metamodernism, sprouted. Out of the nine laptop users in the badly named Swallow Cafe (Sam said that there's no chance they'll change the name), seven have Macs; there is some throbbing-beated lo-fi jangly female singing music playing; and the dishwasher whirs soothingly.

If the Halsey stop is the newest edge of gentrification, then Morgantown will soon be Bedford. Once they build those condos that are slated to go up, just north of McKibbin on Bogart, this place is going to be prime real estate. It would be nice to be able to afford to live there by the time they're built.

Bushwick rats. I should get back to reading some classic literature.

Metamodernism in Literature

My friend Thomas Gibney knows the meaning of post postmodernism. He's living in Hong Kong right now, and has just launched his website. He has written four short stories that allow you, the reader, to guide him to the story's ends.

This example of avant-garde art, especially the interactivity, is what our moment is all about. The internet allows us to access a much vaster amount of information than we ever previously have. Not to make our moment sound so important, but it shares many similarities to the time when the printing press changed the world. The repercussions from this groundswell are just beginning to be felt, mostly in the business world (Facebook's alignment with Goldman Sachs) but also in the poliltical arena (the Obama grassroots youth movement that helped him win office two years ago).

We are all so preoccupied with updates and ways to stay connected that literature has inevitably begun to feel it too. The blog, for one, is a great example. The best blogs are pitstops on the internet highway. Jump here, answer some idiot's response about global warming; go here, drop a link to this funny site you found; retweet it and like it on Facebook, check out your friend's post of a viral video, etc.

So the metamodernism is everywhere. Thomas' work is a good way to understand it.

Metamodernism, or Post Postmodernism Redefined

I was talking to Anthony last week about my shitty novel, and I described my attempt to make it fit into metamodernism, with the oscillation between first, second and third persons. "This will show," I said, "that the narrator is able to pass judgment upon himself, and encourage the reader to do so simultaneously."

Anthony looked at me blankly. He suggested that one of the characters be allowed to pass judgment on the narrator. That’s metamodernism. So I found a scrap of paper and noted this point before it escaped my memory. But how to make it happen, I wondered.

Last year I realized that what would make my work stand out from others is the character’s ability to talk to himself through time. That is, his younger self can address his older self, and vice versa. Dave Eggers does this, kinda, in A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. He uses a Real World interview that is ultimately conducted by himself, to address unconscious questions that plague himself and the reader. But this is the only part of the novel in which it happens.

Gabriel’s older writing self will be the prophet of his younger, passionate self. The younger self will be able to pass judgment on his older self, and vice versa, making the heart of the novel a self vs. self conflict. That is metamodernism.

The Cockroach Knows

    How often have you walked down the street, completely tuned out to your surroundings, focused on what's ahead, or worried about some arcane blasphemy that will never pass? That is the opposite of philosophizing.

The philosopher admires the wind blowing the tree limbs, the orange clouds of sunset floating across an azure sky, and thinks to himself that this is life. He remembers death, and understands life. This is what it means to be in the now, and the birds know it, and the dogs know it, and even that three inch long cockroach that sat on top of the manhole, waving its antennae around in the air, breathing in all the beauty of the midsummer - he knows it too.
 
That's why I couldn't kill him. Oh boy was I tempted, as he perched there fluttering his tentacular antenae, and I looked at the older man sitting on the stoop, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his salt and pepper hair whiting from the roots, to see if he saw this creature, this enormous confident creature. He didn't, but he looked at me and nodded. And I looked back at the cockroach, staring at him, and I said to him, "You can stay. You have the right." And I walked on down the street, with my hands in my pockets, admiring the night and examining the people, my neighbors.

-Welcome to Post Postmodernism, or maybe Metamodernism. This will be addressed tomorrow,
 Love,
Daniel Adler

Daniel Adler's 100th Blog Post

Hey Guys and Gals,
This is my 100th blog post, and it has been nearly a year since I started this thing. I want to thank y'all for staying tuned, and I want to reassure you that there's a lot more good stuff to come. I hope you've enjoyed reading excerpts from my forthcoming novel, Hot Love on the Wing (which believe me, still needs about a year of work). My ideas and thoughts on our moment of late postmodernism, post postmodernism, metamodernism, or whatever you want to call it, are always subject to interpretation based on our the definitive quality of our interaction. And my hopes and love for Brooklyn and New York can always be enhanced with more information.

If you have any ideas for me as to what I should blog about, feel free to drop a comment. To all you new viewers, don't be scared to follow me. I'm working hard to make my blog the most interesting one on the internet, and with your help and my hard work, it will be.
All my love,
Daniel Adler