Life is a farce if you do not serve truth.
—Hilma af Klint
—Hilma af Klint
Is art something that can be taught and systematized, or is it an event, an eruption that defies closed-form learning? It would appear the subtle distinction between “art” and “craft” is that one can rewire the brain, the other matches the wallpaper, and the brightest minds argue true art is not a craft learned by rote, but an adventure into the unknown, closer to a mystical or existential occurrence, that completely overtakes the artist. The great Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva, for instance, talks about poetry as a force of nature and conscience, not a profession. She believes the poet is called to their task, almost in a prophetic mode, something a mere credential can never confer. For her, a poem is an event that happens to the poet as much as it is made by the poet. One doesn’t simply apply tips and techniques to generate genuine poetry, rather the poem arrives and transforms, it is the outcome of “inspiration” in the old, unquantifiable sense, a thing born of suffering and ecstasy, constraint and memory, that surfaces, in time, from the unconscious. Poetry, that most “useless” of human endeavors, useless in the way love and philosophy are useless, i.e. beyond utilitarian measure, reminds us how close art is to a miracle.
Adrienne Rich’s essay “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision” speaks to the idea of writing as a means of awakening, of finding a real voice that challenges the status quo. “Poetry is above all a concentration of the power of language,” she says, “which is the power of our ultimate relationship to everything in the universe.”[1] In such cosmological view, how could expansive, explosive art be reduced to a list of dos and don’ts? The tension between teachable craft and unteachable art has always haunted creative writing education, and the essence of a great poem, its magic, its necessity, might be precisely that which can't be articulated in a classroom, but can only be experienced.
Established poets from outside or at the margins of the Master of Fine Arts initiative have been openly scornful of the glossy sameness they perceive. Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Franz Wright launched a memorable broadside against what he called the “MFA generations,” and he was promptly blacklisted from further readings and literary engagements for criticizing the program (at a time when he was broke and dying of cancer). His father, James Wright, the Beats, the New York School, the Black Mountain poets, and many others thrived in countercultural or non-academic circles. The point being a non-poet can’t be turned into a poet by training, just as a true poet can’t be unmade by lack of training.
Adrienne Rich’s essay “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision” speaks to the idea of writing as a means of awakening, of finding a real voice that challenges the status quo. “Poetry is above all a concentration of the power of language,” she says, “which is the power of our ultimate relationship to everything in the universe.”[1] In such cosmological view, how could expansive, explosive art be reduced to a list of dos and don’ts? The tension between teachable craft and unteachable art has always haunted creative writing education, and the essence of a great poem, its magic, its necessity, might be precisely that which can't be articulated in a classroom, but can only be experienced.
Established poets from outside or at the margins of the Master of Fine Arts initiative have been openly scornful of the glossy sameness they perceive. Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Franz Wright launched a memorable broadside against what he called the “MFA generations,” and he was promptly blacklisted from further readings and literary engagements for criticizing the program (at a time when he was broke and dying of cancer). His father, James Wright, the Beats, the New York School, the Black Mountain poets, and many others thrived in countercultural or non-academic circles. The point being a non-poet can’t be turned into a poet by training, just as a true poet can’t be unmade by lack of training.
© Daniel Carden Nemo
American MFA creative writing programs, on the other hand, suggest that with sufficient practice and feedback, anyone can learn to write well. The large industrial complex consisting of publishing houses, literary journals, anthologies, contests, etc., operates like an organized syndicate with its own rules of admission and advancement, loyalty and gatekeeping. The sheer scale invites comparison to other lucrative professional pipelines (see Big Pharma’s entanglement with medical institutions).
Entire generations of writers have gone through the system: aspiring writers spend tens of thousands of dollars and years of their lives trying to join the guild of published authors, as there is an implicit promise that an MFA will boost one’s chances in the publishing marketplace. Yet recent analysis suggests that the differences between MFA-trained writers and others are minimal, as a study in The Atlantic[2] using computational text analysis shows.
Entire generations of writers have gone through the system: aspiring writers spend tens of thousands of dollars and years of their lives trying to join the guild of published authors, as there is an implicit promise that an MFA will boost one’s chances in the publishing marketplace. Yet recent analysis suggests that the differences between MFA-trained writers and others are minimal, as a study in The Atlantic[2] using computational text analysis shows.
But if an MFA doesn't significantly enhance one’s writing, what is it really offering? The Atlantic study concludes: “Only 7 percent of MFA graduates are fully funded, which means 93 percent are investing some portion of their own money to sound like everyone else.”[3] Developing a unique voice is traded in for “gaining entrance to the club.” The credential warrants that one has been vetted by the academy and thus by the contemporary literary establishment, which, in the publishing world, carries real weight. Literary agents and editors do take note of MFA alumni status, with one agent admitting, “we look favorably on anyone who has an MFA, simply because it shows they’re serious about their writing.”[4] Seriousness, however, is conflated with having paid tuition fees within the system.
By now, “we are all MFAs,”[5] as it’s likely the workshop norms have been absorbed through osmosis, either directly through creative writing classes or through reading published fiction, mostly written by MFA graduates. The literary market operates in a closed loop of validation all things MFA. As poet and critic Anis Shivani summarizes, “the modern-day MFA program forms the writing of the American market today.”[6] MFA programs feed the publishing industry with authors who conform to certain standards, and the publishing industry in turn validates those standards by rewarding MFA writers in an absolute vicious circle, an almost feudal economy of letters complete with its own fiefdoms (programs), vassals (students), and lords (faculty and publishing staff).
In his review of the MFA system, Anis Shivani compares creative writing programs to a closed, subversive “medieval guild” that is undemocratic and inherently conservative. In a guild, one must be an apprentice to enter the trade. Likewise, to be a “real” writer nowadays means apprenticing through an MFA. “If you’re not a part of it, you’re left hanging in the wind,” Shivani writes, emphasizing that the creative writing world’s output tends toward a “domesticated narrative […] toward the confessional, memoiristic, autobiographical, narcissistic, and plainly understood.”
By now, “we are all MFAs,”[5] as it’s likely the workshop norms have been absorbed through osmosis, either directly through creative writing classes or through reading published fiction, mostly written by MFA graduates. The literary market operates in a closed loop of validation all things MFA. As poet and critic Anis Shivani summarizes, “the modern-day MFA program forms the writing of the American market today.”[6] MFA programs feed the publishing industry with authors who conform to certain standards, and the publishing industry in turn validates those standards by rewarding MFA writers in an absolute vicious circle, an almost feudal economy of letters complete with its own fiefdoms (programs), vassals (students), and lords (faculty and publishing staff).
In his review of the MFA system, Anis Shivani compares creative writing programs to a closed, subversive “medieval guild” that is undemocratic and inherently conservative. In a guild, one must be an apprentice to enter the trade. Likewise, to be a “real” writer nowadays means apprenticing through an MFA. “If you’re not a part of it, you’re left hanging in the wind,” Shivani writes, emphasizing that the creative writing world’s output tends toward a “domesticated narrative […] toward the confessional, memoiristic, autobiographical, narcissistic, and plainly understood.”
Also, a disproportionate number of awards go to those in the “guild.” Take a look at the recent winners and finalists of major literary prizes and you’ll find MFA degrees and creative writing faculty positions littered across their biographies. One analysis of the National Book Awards over the past decade says that “almost all of [the honorees] are products of what has come to be known as America’s ‘MFA Industrial Complex.’ They all tend to matriculate at the same elite colleges, acquire advanced degrees in English or Creative Writing, and then go on to teach in the same circle of elite schools.”[7] The report reveals that from 2010 onward, nearly every National Book Award winner in fiction had an MFA or taught in an MFA program, while judges of major awards are frequently MFA professors or alumni themselves.
How about writers like Hemingway, Faulkner, Capote, Steinbeck, Harper Lee, etc., who launched wonderful literary careers without MFAs or PhDs? How successful would they be at navigating the publishing spiral entangled with MFA programs, where professors run small presses, sit on award committees, edit literary magazines in which their students get published or win contests, which helps them secure agent representation and book deals, then return as faculty or alumni guest speakers at workshops?
MFA writers are shielded, however subtly, from the full brunt of writers outside the fold, because potentially letting in real, exceptional artists would throw a spanner in the system’s works. And, sadly, it isn't just the literary world but all sectors of the creative world, music, film, theater, etc., that have been affected by the shameless furtherance and monetization of mediocrity. All of it, to quote Frances McDormand in Fargo, “for just a little bit of money.”
How about writers like Hemingway, Faulkner, Capote, Steinbeck, Harper Lee, etc., who launched wonderful literary careers without MFAs or PhDs? How successful would they be at navigating the publishing spiral entangled with MFA programs, where professors run small presses, sit on award committees, edit literary magazines in which their students get published or win contests, which helps them secure agent representation and book deals, then return as faculty or alumni guest speakers at workshops?
MFA writers are shielded, however subtly, from the full brunt of writers outside the fold, because potentially letting in real, exceptional artists would throw a spanner in the system’s works. And, sadly, it isn't just the literary world but all sectors of the creative world, music, film, theater, etc., that have been affected by the shameless furtherance and monetization of mediocrity. All of it, to quote Frances McDormand in Fargo, “for just a little bit of money.”
The whisper network that operates between agents, editors, and MFA writers thrives on the simulation of meritocracy. It no doubt gives the impression of fair and open competition, there are blind submissions to contests, there are admissions processes, but the work that gets through tends to bear certain hallmarks, be it a workshop glaze or a conformity to current cultural expectations, and the author often has the “right” background. There is a more or less superficial drive for diversity and inclusion. It can sometimes feel like box-ticking or “quota-filling,” and that leads to performative politics in literature. Meanwhile, the quality of the writing, the conceptual originality, its truthfulness may be given a pass so long as the author fits a desired profile or the work supports certain agendas.
To say poetry is an event rather than a teachable activity or learnable craft means that every true poem is a singular occurrence, unrepeatable and unprogrammable. It breaks rules and established views and creates a new truth. But MFA programs are busy commodifying art at the moment. Writing about the contest system for first books, Anis Shivani talks about “a corruption of the poetic process itself,” “an encouragement of mediocrity and ambition, since by definition anything that stands out is less likely to get through [...] Only strong poets can recognize and admire other strong poets. It’s not probable that the apprentice at the lower level is going to get blown away by radically new work; it’s more likely that he’ll get intimidated and put it aside.”[8] Although many talented poets and writers emerge from the MFA paradigm and resist its more stultifying tendencies, the poetic process is corrupted when poets write to achieve status or recognition rather than from inner necessity. The issue lies with the closed-loop system and the ideology it imparts, that literature is a career path with professional hoops to jump through instead of an artistic event. Which raises the question: what is lost in the transmutation of art into a lucrative assembly line craft? Perhaps the very elements of mystery and truth that make art art, and quite possibly more.
To say poetry is an event rather than a teachable activity or learnable craft means that every true poem is a singular occurrence, unrepeatable and unprogrammable. It breaks rules and established views and creates a new truth. But MFA programs are busy commodifying art at the moment. Writing about the contest system for first books, Anis Shivani talks about “a corruption of the poetic process itself,” “an encouragement of mediocrity and ambition, since by definition anything that stands out is less likely to get through [...] Only strong poets can recognize and admire other strong poets. It’s not probable that the apprentice at the lower level is going to get blown away by radically new work; it’s more likely that he’ll get intimidated and put it aside.”[8] Although many talented poets and writers emerge from the MFA paradigm and resist its more stultifying tendencies, the poetic process is corrupted when poets write to achieve status or recognition rather than from inner necessity. The issue lies with the closed-loop system and the ideology it imparts, that literature is a career path with professional hoops to jump through instead of an artistic event. Which raises the question: what is lost in the transmutation of art into a lucrative assembly line craft? Perhaps the very elements of mystery and truth that make art art, and quite possibly more.
*
Disclaimer: This critique of the MFA industrial complex is not a rejection of learning, community, or MFA holders (as shown by the numbers of MFA students and graduates that Amsterdam Review publishes regularly), but a warning against the ossification of literary life into a professional caste system. Equally, it isn’t a call to abolish writing programs, rather to recognize their limitations and corrosive side-effects. The MFA system can cultivate craft, but it too easily strangles artistic impulse. It can open doors for some, but it closes them for others who can’t or won’t play by its rules. As Deleuze and Guattari say in their collaborative work, A Thousand Plateaus: “We miss our finest encounters, we avoid the imperatives that emanate from them: to the exploration of encounters we have preferred the facility of recognitions.”
Works cited
[1] Grahn, Judy. The Work of a Common Woman: The Collected Poetry of Judy Grahn, 1964–1977. Introduction by Adrienne Rich, Diana Press, 1978.
[2] So, Richard Jean, and Andrew Piper. “How Has the MFA Changed the Contemporary Novel?” The Atlantic, 6 Mar. 2016, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/03/mfa-creative-writing/462483/
[3] So, Richard Jean, and Andrew Piper. “How Has the MFA Changed the Contemporary Novel?” The Atlantic, 6 Mar. 2016, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/03/mfa-creative-writing/462483/
[4] Delaney, Edward J. “Where Great Writers Are Made.” The Atlantic, Aug. 2007, www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2007/08/where-great-writers-are-made/306032/
[5] Harbach, Chad. “America Now Has Two Distinct Literary Cultures: Which One Will Last?” Slate, 3 Nov. 2010, slate.com/culture/2010/11/mfa-vs-nyc-america-now-has-two-distinct-literary-cultures-which-one-will-last.html
[6] Shivani, Anis. Against the Workshop: Provocations, Polemics, Controversies. Texas Review Press, 2011.
[7] Mims, Kevin. “The National Book Foundation Defines Diversity Down.” Quillette, 7 Jan. 2020, quillette.com/2020/01/07/the-national-book-foundation-defines-diversity-down/
[8] Shivani, Anis. “Poetry Book Contests Should Be Abolished: Why Contests Are the Stupidest Way to Publish First Books.” HuffPost, 6 Jun. 2011, www.huffpost.com/entry/poetry-book-contests_b_858819
[1] Grahn, Judy. The Work of a Common Woman: The Collected Poetry of Judy Grahn, 1964–1977. Introduction by Adrienne Rich, Diana Press, 1978.
[2] So, Richard Jean, and Andrew Piper. “How Has the MFA Changed the Contemporary Novel?” The Atlantic, 6 Mar. 2016, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/03/mfa-creative-writing/462483/
[3] So, Richard Jean, and Andrew Piper. “How Has the MFA Changed the Contemporary Novel?” The Atlantic, 6 Mar. 2016, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/03/mfa-creative-writing/462483/
[4] Delaney, Edward J. “Where Great Writers Are Made.” The Atlantic, Aug. 2007, www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2007/08/where-great-writers-are-made/306032/
[5] Harbach, Chad. “America Now Has Two Distinct Literary Cultures: Which One Will Last?” Slate, 3 Nov. 2010, slate.com/culture/2010/11/mfa-vs-nyc-america-now-has-two-distinct-literary-cultures-which-one-will-last.html
[6] Shivani, Anis. Against the Workshop: Provocations, Polemics, Controversies. Texas Review Press, 2011.
[7] Mims, Kevin. “The National Book Foundation Defines Diversity Down.” Quillette, 7 Jan. 2020, quillette.com/2020/01/07/the-national-book-foundation-defines-diversity-down/
[8] Shivani, Anis. “Poetry Book Contests Should Be Abolished: Why Contests Are the Stupidest Way to Publish First Books.” HuffPost, 6 Jun. 2011, www.huffpost.com/entry/poetry-book-contests_b_858819
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Daniel Carden Nemo is a writer, poet, and translator. His work has been long-listed for the Best Literary Translations (Deep Vellum) and has appeared or is forthcoming in Atlanta Review, RHINO, Full Stop, Magma Poetry, Sontag Mag, Exchanges, and elsewhere. For more, go to danielnemo.com or subscribe for free to hataaliinotes.substack.com.
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