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A review by saisailiuliuko
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
1.0
Oh dear lord. What a piece of pretentious junk. Pretty well-written junk, sure, but the ~realisations about life~ seem like something a high school student in his first philosophy class may have. The analogues and metaphors are so trite and underlined (Vietnam got it up the butt by America? Sure) that it kills any subtlety and beauty the writing style may hold.
The bigger problem lies with this new era of confessional autofiction. I don't think a collection of writing prompts makes for a cohesive work of literary art. It makes for therapy. And yeah, it works wonders: turning a shitty experience into something beautiful is a powerful move.
But that’s not enough. A novel needs so much more.
Despite the narrator’s pathos and close relationships with other characters, none of them have any substance to them – there are only feelings and trauma. And because there are only feelings and trauma, there is no conflict, no plot points, no motives, no world-building, nothing to hold onto except a smart linguistic trick or two.
It’s the curse of autofiction, the age of Instagram literature: my experience trumps all else. Getting my feelings and voice out there is the most important thing. Fuck depth, fuck nuance, fuck mastering a complex craft: just look at me go.
The bigger problem lies with this new era of confessional autofiction. I don't think a collection of writing prompts makes for a cohesive work of literary art. It makes for therapy. And yeah, it works wonders: turning a shitty experience into something beautiful is a powerful move.
But that’s not enough. A novel needs so much more.
Despite the narrator’s pathos and close relationships with other characters, none of them have any substance to them – there are only feelings and trauma. And because there are only feelings and trauma, there is no conflict, no plot points, no motives, no world-building, nothing to hold onto except a smart linguistic trick or two.
It’s the curse of autofiction, the age of Instagram literature: my experience trumps all else. Getting my feelings and voice out there is the most important thing. Fuck depth, fuck nuance, fuck mastering a complex craft: just look at me go.