[name of author] - Presented as a detailed, chapter-by-chapter outline of post-modern novel, this is a tip of the hat to Lawrence Sterne’s Tristan Shandy (with the works of many other authors alluded to) and a parody of literary conventions, genres, and tropes.

[name of author], [title], [independent “prestige” press (aka / Sublunary Editions), 2021

"It would open with a formulated flourish (ideas rather than things), which is not to suggest an absence of the conventional flora and fauna, fabricated objects, location with human figures in it, etc., but merely to admit the immaterial evidence of any such mise-en-scène. Presuming this caveat’s taken as read, the flourish would leave it foregone and proceed with unremarked artifice to its point of departure."

“Perfunctory mentor blurb” —Venerable literary figure who directs [name of author]’s Creative Writing Program

“Prestige by association blurb” —Acclaimed [novelist/poet/essayist/playwright] who won the prestigious award given to individuals who excel in that particular genre

“Conceptual buzz words blurb” —Post-modern [theorist/artist/filmmaker]

[Title] is a book that pulls apart the relationships among reader, writer, and text, doing it with [humor/pathos] and [aplomb/wanton disregard], in the spirit of [undersung writer's writer].

[Name of author] was born in [#### Anno Domini], in [major metropolis/rural outpost/overseas] and was educated at [prestigious university/notable MFA program/public library]. He’s written a number of other books, several of which were [praised/ awarded/banned/remaindered]. He now lives in [university town/upstate village/parts unknown] where he [academic post and/or marital status] and where he continues to [etc., etc.] or recently perished in a tragic [etc.]

Presented as a detailed, chapter-by-chapter outline of post-modern novel, [name of author]’s [title] is a tip of the hat to Lawrence Sterne’s Tristan Shandy (with the works of many other authors alluded to) and a parody of literary conventions, genres, and tropes. As with some of the finest avant-garde literature, [title] has no plot—Fictional Character is usually just waking from sleep or a bad fall as the Narrator wonders on Fictional Character’s behalf why he (“pronominal evidence suggests male”) should get up and what he should do. Clearly, [name of author] has been collecting examples of avant-garde clichés for a long time. I don’t know the background to the [title]’s composition, but I can imagine its origins as a list of conventions and clichés which were then transformed—solely for the author’s own amusement—into a book. It’s kind of an in-joke for a certain set of readers and well worth the read. I suspect that [title] will fly—or sputter, more likely—under the radar, but it really deserves a wider audience. Apart from a good bit of intellectual fun, it also can serve as a type of study in rhetorical structures and choices building materials.

https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/2022/03/11/ten-books-under-100-pages/

excerpts:

Chapter 1

It would open with a formulated flourish (ideas rather than things), which is not to suggest an absence of the conventional flora and fauna, fabricated objects, location with human figures in it, etc., but merely to admit the immaterial evidence of any such mise-en-scène. Presuming this caveat’s taken as read, the flourish would leave it foregone and proceed with unremarked artifice to its point of departure.

At this particular point (for narrative’s sake we’ll posit particularity) the volume would open into a well-lighted room. There (here), you’d comprise the only organic matter (the ersatz human figure), drawn in by the aforementioned flourish and then:

Fictional Character would make an appearance. Or rather, you would (he’d presumably have been where he is). An arrival met with no niceties (you’re not greeted, asked in, etc.). There’ll be no interlocution, nor human contact, but you’ve made such visitations before and are familiar with the protocol. Fictional Character would take you for a fly on the fourth wall and go about his business.

Who is this Fictional Character? you’ll wonder as a matter of course and make the preliminary deduction that since he is solitary, he must be Protagonist (by default). And pronominal evidence suggests male. Over the course of the narrative you may begin to question the efficacy of deduction, but for now you’re decided: Protagonist. Male.

And what race is he? What faith? What socio-economic class? you’ll need to know because you’re intrusive and exacting in this role. Here (there), minding your own business would be counterintuitive.

And what’s he look like? You’ll want his hair, eyes and skin colored in, informing a visage of tone and contour. You’ll want his build built (will want his body). You’ll want a full measure of “flesh” and won’t be satisfied until you get it.

You’ll want the time of day, month, year (past, present, future?). You’ll want his whereabouts divulged (and by association, yours). All in due time (one can only imagine).

For now you’re compelled to situate Protagonist in the Anglophone world.

You don’t know where you are in this world, could be literally anywhere or more precariously—elsewhere. Protagonist’s failsafe being that he won’t, strictly speaking, be where he is, whereas you’ll have no such exemption.

Chapter 2

Would reopen with another formulated flourish. Be forewarned, the text will be riddled with writing. You’ll grow so wary (and/or weary) of words that by the uppermost arc of the narrative you’ll be craving action and want to just get on with your life. This prospect may prove daunting, however, and so there’s a good chance you’ll opt to read on (and on).

As you read the first sentence of the second paragraph of Chapter 2, you notice that Protagonist has not, as yet, moved a muscle. Nor, to be sure, evinced aught of his appearance. He is merely there (here) in this (that) well-lighted place.

Then you note the “facial tic” (introducing the still featureless “face”). The “brow” beginning to “furrow.” The almost perceptible sound of “grinding teeth.”

You’re beginning to make out Protagonist’s form when he suddenly “thrusts himself out of his chair” like an/a [undetonated firework/arthritic jack-in-the-box/ flightless bird having a last go at gravity]. On his feet, he begins to pace with a captive animal’s gait reminiscent of [Rilke’s panther/MacNiece’s wolf/Nabokov’s ape]. Is always already restless when you happen upon him.

You do not see Protagonist pacing or if you do it’s a Protagonist of your own making in the mind’s eye. Perhaps you’ve featured him, provisionally. Colored in and contoured his superficies. Perhaps even performed a pronominal gender reassignment— or what you will.

And yet such initiative would be out of character. More likely you’re awaiting a tug at the leash of our story’s seeing-eye-dog and the only Protagonist you see pacing is “Protagonist paces.” In this same regard, you’ll read his thoughts as they proceed to stream across the page. You have telepathic powers from this point of view, but are otherwise impotent. You can know everything, but do nothing about it.

Chapter 3

More writing (re: the passage of time, human nature, etc.).

Fictional Character’s plight plotted. Woes chronicled and present perils posed. Distinctive traits emerge.

Tonal calibration. Mood set. Adumbration of major conceit.

…Foreshadowing…? Could be. Could very well be.

[photo of author with his dog of indeterminate breed]

https://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/title-an-excerpt/

CHAPTER 17

Agon established, the narrative begins its initial thrust. After the fact. It is another flashback, but so distinctively incarnated you mistake it for the present at present. (Truth be told, the well-lighted room is fixed and ever-present, so this is an honest mistake. Therein [herein], one can only pretend to move back and forth in time/space.)

An anachronistic, Victorian epistle arrives for Protagonist and the two of you read it silently (though you can almost hear Protagonist mumbling the words under his breath like a child who needs to sound everything out). You expect it to introduce an antagonist or love interest, shed light on the past and present, or at the very least set a course of events in motion. Perhaps it does, but you can’t tell how. Protagonist writes out an equally esoteric reply and deposits it in the postbox at the corner of those two busy thoroughfares of his resident anywhere.

A few days later another letter arrives. And the next day several more letters. By the end of autumn (it’s always already the fall where he is), Protagonist is receiving whole sacks of mail. He could never have dreamed he had so many correspondents. He’d been theretofore unaware he had any.

This epistolary episode lasts for well over ten thousand thousand [sic] pages, spanning more than two decade’s duration in the narrative and bringing Protagonist to the moment you’d met him in this (that) well-lighted place. Each day Protagonist kneels over his prie-dieu, reading and feverishly scribbling away, but is unable to stay the course of this paper trail. After what seems like a lifetime (or a more daunting prospect: has been), Protagonist concedes the comprehensive futility of this preoccupation and vows to “get on with it”—it being life presumably. (Though his recidivism is inevitable, essential, in progress.) He goes to the post office and puts a hold on his mail. Returns to the formerly well-lit room and sits quietly in the dark like a [Carthusian monk/root vegetable/museum piece after hours].

CHAPTER 18

There is great significance in the aforementioned missives, which Protagonist now proceeds to dispose of (into the voluminous recycling bin beside the gargantuan dumpster out back). The narrative’s cipher key is, in fact, embedded in this colossal haystack of letters (you could pinpoint the crux of the curse therein), but you weren’t about to plough through a million plus pages of what seemed to you to be the maniacal ravings of Freemasons, pyramid scheme solicitations and litigious letters to Santa. You don’t have that much spare time to give and you’d have had to give years, if not the rest of your life in the endeavor (to not just read, but comprehend).

You’re beginning to get the feeling that this is precisely what the narrative requires of you. The rest of your life.

CHAPTER 21

Now the room is empty and the lights are off. Protagonist is elsewhere (once removed from his resident anywhere) and Narrator omits informing you of his whereabouts. You’re compelled to imagine where he is and what he might be doing.

And true to form, that is exactly where he is and what he’s doing.

https://minorliteratures.com/2021/12/10/title-excerpt-name-of-author/