23 Aug Book Review of On Writing and Failure: Or, On the Peculiar Perseveranc…
On Writing and Failure: Embracing the Struggle
When I first stumbled upon Stephen Marche’s On Writing and Failure: Or, On the Peculiar Perseverance, I was immediately struck by the purposeful candor of its title. As a budding writer myself, the notion of writing entwined with failure resonated deeply. Marche doesn’t just brush past the romanticism surrounding the writer’s journey; he plunges headfirst into the cold, hard truths that form the backbone of a writer’s life. This book is not merely a guide—it’s a heartfelt essay on the gritty struggle inherent in the craft.
Marche’s perspective is refreshingly grounded. He cites George Orwell, reminding us that failure is an inescapable companion in the writing world. Throughout its eighty concise pages, this book reads like an intimate conversation with a wise friend who’s seen it all. He shares stories that are as heartbreaking as they are enlightening, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, who, despite his monumental talent, grappled with a sense of failure and succumbed to alcoholism. These narratives serve not only as poignant reminders of the writers’ plight but as a warnful refrain: “Why would it be different for you?”
One of the most striking aspects of Marche’s writing is his unwavering call for resilience. He almost playfully admonishes his audience with “No whining” and “No complaining,” yet you can sense the underlying empathy; he knows the struggle all too well. Marche’s candid reflection on his collection of rejection letters—over two thousand—felt oddly comforting. It alleviated what I often perceive as isolation in my own creative frustrations. His honesty about failure, including that of the greats, serves as a reminder that the path is fraught with hardship, but occasionally strewn with the blooms of resilience.
Each chapter unfolds as a new layer of the writer’s psyche, tackling everything from rejection to the infamous writer’s block, which Marche dismisses with a dry wit by stating, “It used to be called ‘not having anything to say.’” His writing style is both approachable and incisive, echoing the very struggles he discusses. He acknowledges that even the most celebrated authors have faced grave challenges, citing well-known figures whose careers thrived only to be buried in obscurity. This aspect of the book made me reflect on my own understanding of success—something that seems as elusive as the shimmering mirage it often is.
A particularly memorable quote that I found resonant was Marche’s blunt reminder about the literary giants of past eras: “The best writers of every era have been completely forgotten.” This recognition was both sobering and liberating. It urged me to confront my expectations head-on, reminding me that the act of writing itself is worth pursuing, irrespective of the external accolades.
On Writing and Failure is for anyone who feels that creative pulse within them, alongside an ever-looming sense of doubt. It’s a powerful reminder that the struggle is part of the journey, a message that resonates with those of us still navigating the murky waters of the creative process. Having had my own struggles encapsulated within its pages, I closed the book feeling less alone and more armed to face the challenges ahead.
In an age where we often equate success with visibility, Marche’s exploration is refreshing. It invites readers, aspiring or established writers, to dig deeper into the meaning of perseverance. For anyone with an inkling of creativity thrumming beneath their skin, On Writing and Failure offers an affirming nudge—write because you must, not because you expect recognition. Embrace the failure, for it is part of the art.
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