In chapter 120 of the Chinese classic, Wen-Tzu’s Book of Pervading Mystery (通玄真經), we read: “If they are valued for what is valuable about them, then all things are valuable. If they are despised for what is worthless about them, then all things are worthless.”1
So when Ursula K. Le Guin recently quipped at the National Book Awards, “I see a lot of us, the producers accepting this — letting commodity profiteers sell us like deodorant,” one has to wonder how enthusiastic that crammed room full of applauding deodorant slanderers would have been had none of them been wearing deodorant.
And, the remark stank beyond its implied dismissal of products engineered to overcome human body odor.
From the New York Times:
Writing a great short story is difficult. Very often a short story will end up feeling like a novel or novella folded onto itself, so that parts of the story seeming rushed or compressed, while other parts seems stretched out by comparison. And, I say that meaning it’s still a great short story, the same way a sunflower seed is tasty to eat, but has larger possibilities folded inside it. Writers sometimes give in to the narrative tension wrapped into the short story form, and refuse to accept that their own work is “good enough” while it still feels bursting with potential.