Eruditorum Press

No ideas but in Swamp Thing

Erudite Waffles (3/4/23)

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Hello after a week’s break. Let’s get down to it.

What I’m Up To

Let’s see. In a continuing effort to get my word count back up and deal with LWIA v4’s refusal to play nicely with my ADHD I’ve actually tried poking some TARDIS Eruditorum. So look for that on the Patreon. Past that, I sent a pitch out this week, but have mostly been reading and researching and only just switched back into writing mode in the last two days, in part on account of spending a week in Brooklyn.

But frankly who needs me when Christine is dropping career best essays like this.

Oh God You’re Going To Do Vacation Photos Again

Cool your serifs, center-justified boldface text. It was a much lower photo vacation than the last one, and much higher on low key sitting around Lexi’s place watching Game Changer on Dropout and eating the frankly astonishing popcorn she makes. (I am utterly mortified that the food hippies are right and “nutritional yeast” is good. This is actively offensive to me.) Got to take Christine perfume shopping (she now wears Imaginary Authors’ Memoirs of a Trespasser; I’m rocking Nobile 1942’s La Danza delle Libellule, and Penn added Comme des Garçons’ Copper to his collection) and see Battery Park with her, which is where her biological family landed in the country when emigrating from what’s now the Czech Republic, spent some time in MoMA, and went to a leather dyke event, though. But you’re spared photos.

I’m a Sans Serif Font You Typographically Ignorant Cunt

I think that kind of language is a bit unnecessary, Centyjust. (I can call you Centyjust, right?)

Actually… Actually That’s Kind of Cute

Glad you like it. Anyway, the other thing I’ve done is write reviews of all the official Halo releases from Nine Inch Nails with the intention of serializing them here over the next thirty-four weeks. So without further ado…

Halo 1: Down In It

Something like the sixth best song on Pretty Hate Machine gets two additional remixes, neither distinctive enough to bother pulling this disc out over the album version or, more to the point, the other disc they’re both included on. Still, something’s gotta be the debut single, and this is inoffensive, even if you’re more annoyed than satisfied when it’s stuck in your head. 2/9 Inches

And Now… Tumblr Asks!

As always, feel free to send me asks. 

Which is the better name for them: Nine Inch Nails, NIN, or The Nine Inch Nails?

The Nine Inch Nails, obvs.

Do we ever see the cybermen convert anyone in the classic series? It seems like an obvious thing to do with the premise, but I can’t think of examples.

Attack of the Cybermen. (And Tomb, as someone pointed out in reply.)

Have you read any of Miracleman: The Silver Age yet? If so, was it worth the wait?

None of the new issues; figure I’ll read the arc when it’s all together. But no. Nothing is worth that kind of wait.…

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“A good way to hear God laugh” (David Milch, Deadwood, and Saint Paul)

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“I believe one way God says, “I too have a hand here” is in the rhythms and metrics of speech,” writes David Milch, the author of television’s most profane iambic pentameter, in Life’s Work: A Memoir. “[…] The metrics of speech are important and representative of our fellowship even in those of us who feel, mistakenly, that we are separate from each other as individuals.”

That paragraph could well be the perfect synopsis of Milch’s career; fitting enough, as Life’s Work is a self-knowing epilogue — also effectively a last will and testament — to Milch’s corpus. Milch and his family assembled the book through years of dictation by amanuensis as Milch’s Alzheimers has sent him into a decline. Considering that slow process, Life’s Work is stunningly cogent — possibly one of the best I’ve ever read — comparable only to something like Blackstar in its powerful finality. 

In essence, Life’s Work is a prayer — like all art is, particularly Milch’s. “Every day, before I write, I pray, and I ask to be willing, and then I see what happens. “I offer myself to Thee to build with me and do with me as Thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do Thy will.” (This is a practice I have started to borrow from Milch — although for him it’s an AA method, whereas I have the curse of alcohol intolerance which prevents me from downing whiskey over a typewriter.) Writing starts with an act of contrition — with utter humility. Art comes from forgiveness.

One gets the impression Milch’s work is fundamentally based in dialogue, not only with God, but with other people (although frankly, that’s not a distinction which has any meaning). Certain truths percolate through the encephalic plaque that accompanies Alzheimers.

“When I look at my grandchildren or I hold them, I can feel that it’s only my individual strength that is subsiding. The strength in the family, in the species, and in the whole beating heart of the universe hasn’t subsided at all.”

Milch’s dedication to the idea of humanity as one contiguous organism comes through even as he gives the impression of being a single-minded solipsist whose drug-and-booze-addled decision-making leads him to do things like sign off part of his ownership in a network TV show to his Vicodin dealer. Or when Milch, as a Yale student, tripping balls on acid, blows out street lights and a police car siren with a shotgun (he then told the cops “I’ll confess when your badge stops melting”). Milch’s account of his addictions, including a gambling penchant which cost his family their financial security, evince a clear sign of an urgent need to fulfill his own desires. His devotion to universalist community is genuine, but it’s clearly tied to his need for gratification.

To call Milch a monomaniac would be problematic given his diagnosed OCD (and learn harder into diagnosis than I’m remotely interested in doing) and yet it’s not exactly wrong.…

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Was This Your Intended Statement? (Book Three, Part 63: Buster Brown at the Barricades)

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Previously in Last War in Albion: To Moore’s delight, the V for Vendetta mask became an international symbol of anticapitalist protest on the back of the Occupy movement.

“All those logos on your raiment, brand-name badges of enslavement, drip-fed passive entertainment. Was this your intended statement?” -Alan Moore, “Mandrillfesto”

A month into the Zucotti Park encampment, indie filmmaker Matt Pizzolo, one of the distributors of the Grant Morrison: Talking With Gods documentary, announced a crowdfunded comics anthology to be called Occupy Comics, which was soon able to announce the participation of Alan Moore, who ended up contributing an essay to the project entitled “Buster Brown at the Barricades” that was serialized as the headline element of all three issues of the anthology once it came out in 2013. This was a lengthy work—over 21,000 words—in which Moore traced an alternate history of comics. Starting from the vogue among those inclined to mythologize the medium to trace its origins back to Egyptian times, Moore notes that “a very different, and perhaps more vital, reading of comic-book history becomes available if we simply turn over the stone blocks on which these stylised chronicles of Egypt’s kings or deities were carved. On the reverse of numerous stones that went to make the pyramids, inscribed on faces that were never meant to see the daylight, archaeologists have found what may well be the first anti-authoritarian and blasphemous satirical cartoons. These are depictions made, presumably, by bored and truculent stonemasons, of the same animal-headed gods to be found in the more conventional inscriptions, only here they’re shown as sitting around playing cards like some divine Egyptian poker school,” declaring this to be “the true historical precursor of the cartoon and the comic strip, the signifier of a grand tradition rooted in its healthy scepticism with regard to rulers, gods or institutions; a genuine art-form of the people, unrestricted by prevailing notions of acceptability and capable of giving voice to popular dissent, or even of becoming, in the right hands, a supremely powerful instrument for social change. It could even be said that, rather than such scurrilous and anti-social sentiments being a minor aberration in the otherwise sedate commercial history of comics, these expressions of dissatisfaction are the medium’s main purpose.” 

Moore then proceeds to lay out this alternate history, looking at the relationship between comics and class in the early days of the medium by focusing on the treatments of poverty in Hogan’s Alley, the early days of Blondie, and strips like Mutt and Jeff, Bringing Up Father, and Li’l Abner before they settled into being a middle class concern. Throughout this, however, he notes the role of obscenity in the medium as well, with sections on Aubrey Beardsley’s “urge to shock and his desire to push his work beyond the boundaries of acceptability[, which] had very possibly no more of a refined conceptual basis than that of a teenager embellishing a garage door with an improbably enormous phallus, although executed with far greater delicacy and accomplishment” and on the way in which Tijuana Bibles were “puncturing the socio-sexual hypocrisy which held that sexual provocation was acceptable as long as the human activity which it was based upon was never mentioned or made otherwise explicit.”…

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Erudite Waffles (2/18/23)

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Hello eyeballs. Would you like some glyphs to massage against your optic nerves? Well I’ve got 8356 of them for you.

What I’m Up To

The general malaise in which multiple people I love are having tough times continues. But I got a Last War in Albion v4 post on Miracleman out to Patrons, I’ll have another on Johnny the Homicidal Maniac this weekend. And, of course, “How to Be an Egg in the Age of Lilith Fair” posted, which I guarantee will be oine of my favorite things I write this year. Monday we’ve got the last V for Vendetta post, as well as me being off to Brooklyn to see Lexi again.

Right. Only one main section this week, because I got

An Absolutely Ridiculous Number of Tumblr Asks

Good ridiculous though! Keep ‘em coming. 

Do you have plans as comics creator beyond Britain a Prophecy ?

Plans evince a certain arrogance that’s unearned at this stage in my career, though Penn and I have a ton of stuff we want to do. More broadly, I’m certainly pursuing options in comics, just like I’m working on a novel. I’d like fiction work to be a majority of my work within the next few years.

Which TARDIS Eruditorum book/era stands best on its own? For me it’s the Hartnell one but curious to hear your take also regarding best run of essays maybe

Quite proud of Volume 4. Really, 1-4 form a nice kind of Eruditorum Golden Age. Literally was just talking to Lexi about the way in which I was using the blog at that time to grind a lot of axes about narratology and long-form serialized narrative, and there’s a really satisfying, let’s go ahead and call it alchemy between my still present academic instincts and my more esoteric tendencies. All of those are quite strong eras. But Volume 4 feels like a real personal peak—as good as I got at the particular thing I was doing at that time.

Starting with Williams the show became a very different thing and I got sucked further into Fandom Debates, and while the highs there—Logopolis, Trial of a Time Lord, the TV Movie, and honestly most of the televised McCoy stuff—are probably my individual favorite essays, there starts to be a lot more filler-feeling stuff in between those high points. Call it the Silver Age.

New series marks a sort of Bronze aAge, and becomes a “covering all those spinoffs before you had a Patreon to monetize the extra entries was not a sound career decision” sort of situation, especially with so many more stories per era compared to the classic. (One season of Tennant is around as many stories as the Baker or McCoy eras.) Add the difficulties of effective hindsight and I’d be lying if I said Tennant and Smith in particular were favorites. But god, that Eccleston run of entries is as good as anything I’ve ever written.

And the Capaldi era, my late career return, is rock solid, wall to wall some of my favorite material on the blog.…

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How to Be an Egg in the Age of Lilith Fair

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Christine:

Since listening to some of these songs in the car with you on the way to grandma’s for Christmas and realizing you were less familiar with the 90s female singer songwriter boom than I’d assumed, I’ve had it in my head to try to communicate what it was like to be a trans teenager at that precise moment. So, because I’m me, I wrote you an 8000 word essay/annotated playlist and am posting it on your birthday. So happy birthday. There aren’t a ton of rules for this; it’s all female vocals, mostly from the 90s, though anything that came out during my life but before I graduated high school was eligible, so there’s two 80s tracks. I centered the playlist on the Lilith Fair; a touring festival of female musicians that took place from 1997-99 and that always felt to me like the nexus of the musical era I’m trying to sketch for you, although songs by non-Lilith Fair artists are included. Likewise, the songs are not always my favorites, whether from the period or now—they are chosen instead because they collectively capture a fragile strand of libidinous glamor that I hung onto for dear life as a kid.

Oh, and everybody else: Yep, it’s our very own Christine Kelley’s birthday. Don’t forget to support her work on Patreon.

Apple Music Version

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6JnQbQbzdo&ab_channel=GoodMusicOnEarth

1. Ani DiFranco, Untouchable Face (1996; Never Played Lilith Fair)

The central moment to remember, years later, with a vivid clarity so intense you can practically feel the upholstery, will be sitting in the passenger seat of your mother’s car outside the Borders in Farmington. By this point you are already into this sort of thing—a clear and developed fondness for the female singer-songwriter boom. You have heard of Ani DiFranco somewhere on the Internet, recognizing her as a next door neighbor to stuff you already like, and so on your next shopping trip you spend your allowance on Dilate. You head out to the car with your mother, pop it into your Discman™, and give it a listen.

At first it seems familiar—a lilting guitar, a slightly melancholy vocal, wistfully nursing a breakup with a seemingly amused distance. You will understand this through the first verse. You will think you have a handle on this. And then Ani DiFranco will calmly, even sweetly, intone the first “fuck you” of the chorus.

In truth this is cringe. DiFranco is already exiting her imperial phase—you will later rehearse an argument that the precise moment her career goes off the rails is the horn part on the first track of her next album. In years to come she will play a plantation, rewrite the barnstorming pro-union “Which Side Are You On” into a piece of bland pro-Obama glurge, and generally become a middle-class parody of the DIY folk-punk icon she momentarily appeared to be. She will be a taste you embarrassedly defend to Lexi, until she grudgingly admits that Amanda Palmer played a similar role for her. …

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The Trump Trap

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The GOP, MAGA, the past, and the future…

Trump might leave the US as a three party system.  America would have three parties - a centrist liberal party, a far-right party, and a fascist party. 

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The classic pattern of a fascist takeover of government goes something like this…

The fascist party grows to the point where it is big enough to be a kind of kingmaker in a deadlocked representative democratic system, and the conservative elites of that system, threatened by chaos and/or growing left political feeling and workers’ struggle, adopt the fascists as the (to them) lesser evil, and help them into power.  The conservative elites expect to be able to control the fascists and use them as a bulwark, discarding them when they have outlived their usefulness, only to find that the fascist party out-manoeuvres them and assimilates or ejects them.  This has not yet happened in the United States, but it seems to have happened – on a micro level, as it were – within the Republican Party.  

The MAGA conquest of the Republican Party may not be absolutely complete, however.  MAGA might still split away.  

A lot depends on whether Trump once again secures the Republican nomination.

Front-runners don’t necessarily get nominations.  Many people now considered political jokes have, at one time or another, been front-runners.  Donald Trump isn’t even always the front-runner in the polls these days.  Even so, the likelihood is that, all else being equal, he will get the Republican nomination again.  

The movers-and-shakers within the GOP want rid of him.  So do most of the mid-level people.  They talk openly about how he was great but it’s not 2016 anymore, we need someone new, etc.  They are hoping to nudge the feeling in the party.  But the feeling in the party stays with Trump.  The insiders are reduced, as some of them have recently confessed, to waiting for Trump to die.

We all know the paradox.  We saw it played out in instance after instance in the midterms.  Republican hopefuls can’t be candidates without Trump’s approval; Republican candidates can’t get elected by the public with Trump’s approval.  This paradox runs right the way through the Republican Party, from top to bottom.  It is soon to be enacted on the national stage in the 2024 presidential election.

This is the trap the present-day Republican Party is in.  A trap entirely of its own creation and long in the making. 

I’ll have to go back a bit.

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Neoliberalism, ‘Creeping Fascism’, and The Cosby Show

In the late twentieth century, the post-war ‘long boom’ crumbled as a result of the secular tendency towards decline in the profit rate, which is – as Marx showed – innate to capitalism.  By the 1970s, even the vast and ongoing government stimulus of Cold War arms spending was failing to pump up the burst tyre.  The neoliberal strategy was an attempt by capitalism – unsuccessful in overall, real terms – to restore the profit rate, and the GOP was at the forefront of it with Reaganism, as were the British Tories with Thatcherism.  

The neoliberal revolution was not just economic.  It was also – in an almost too on-the-nose demonstration of Marx’s ‘base and superstructure’ model – political and cultural. …

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Erudite Waffles (2/11/23)

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Hello, I’m Elizabeth Sandifer, and you’re spending your Saturday reading Eruditorum Press.

What I’m Up To

I got the Last War in Albion Volume 4 post on Storm Constantine out to Patrons. Read a bunch of comics for the next couple essays. Penn drew some panels. Been a pretty sleepy week.

Youth pastor for Cthulhu voice But you know who hasn’t been sleeping? Jack fuckin’ Graham, who’s written his first new essay in fucking ages. Those of you wise enough to back his Patreon have already seen it, the rest will have their sanities wrenched from their minds on Monday. And then on Tuesday, it’s Christine’s birthday, and I’m throwing her about eight thousand words of party. There will be lesbians. Final part of the V for Vendetta chapter will go out on the 20th, the same day Penn and I fuck off to Brooklyn again to see Lexi. 

Even the Mere Idea of More Vacation Photos is Like a Hellish Weight Within My Mind, Please Make it Stop and Give Me Some Tumblr Asks

You hear that everyone? Send center-justified bold-face text your Tumblr asks courtesy of elsandifer.tumblr.com, where my askbox lies open to all regardless of whether they want to speak to me or a typographical element tortured by its own existence.

in your tiny essay on hugboxing and scab picking you wrote: “you can’t help but think that if something comes along that shakes the foundations of what’s possible it’s gonna come from the hugbox side”, and then in your manhunt review: “This is the future. The door has, at last, been kicked open, and it’s time to storm the castle and put our new fucking queen on the throne”. have your feelings on the matter evolved between the two or do you think manhunt doesn’t quite shake the foundations?

My feelings have evolved; the hugbox side has gotten, to my mind, increasingly bound up in solipsism, dogmatism, and an inability to recognize that working for defense contractors is bad, while the scab-picking side had the best piece of trans SFF in recent memory, and that’s changed the math rather a lot.

More broadly, I’m deeply hostile to the growing trend of sex negativity within the queer community, and frankly I see that as coming out of a similar place to hugboxing, so my opposition to it has gotten much starker.

With your changing feels on scab picking does the man you’re more lenient on what kind of scabpicking isn’t too far? For an shitty example: Do you still oppose discorded whooves on an sheer conceptual level despite it’s scabpicking origins?

At the end of the day my problem with Discorded Whooves is that I would rather stab my own eyes out than engage at length with a My Little Pony/Doctor Who crossover Tumblr blog. I don’t think there’s any principles underlying that; it’s purely a statement about my interests and preferences. But it’s a very firm one that’s not especially movable; I’ve put in my effort appreciating adult fandom of children’s media, and as it turns out I hate literally everything about it.…

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Rats With Guns (Book Three, Part 62: Occupy)

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Previously in Last War in Albion: In an unlikely series of events, a series of 2008 protests against Scientology that emerged out of the online hacker group Anonymous made widespread use of V for Vendetta-style Guy Fawkes masks. There are several possible reasons for this.

“Rats. Rats with money. And rats with guns. I’m your worst nightmare.” – Grant Morrison, Action Comics

A more parsimonious explanation, however, is simply that it was magic. V for Vendetta was not one of Moore’s conscious magical works, but art need not be conceived of as magic to be magic. And even if Moore wasn’t conscious of it, there is a clearly magical dimension to the way in which its conclusion served as an endpoint of the first phase of his career. The fact that the mask would come to prominence in anti-Scientology deepens the sense, Scientology having been the bastard offspring of Jack Parsons’ magical experiments and the disowned father of Burroughs’s magical techniques. Of course V for Vendetta’s central iconography would turn into a magical totem. Of course when that totem, completed in the wake of Watchmen reached fruition, it would be in opposition to Scientology.  How else could it have possibly played out? 

Moore, his part, was openly delighted by this development, remarking in a September 2008 interview that “I was also quite heartened the other day when watching the news to see that there were demonstrations outside the Scientology headquarters over here, and that they suddenly flashed to a clip showing all these demonstrators wearing V for Vendetta masks. That pleased me. That gave me a warm little glow.” His sense of satisfaction was, however, only just beginning. 

In February of 2011, the Canadian anticapitalist group Adbusters proposed a “Million Man March on Wall Street.” The proposal for a mass demonstration on Wall Street gained ground, and eventually settled into a concrete plan for a demonstration on September 17th, now under the banner of Occupy Wall Street. Adbusters was by this point a venerable organization that had been around since V for Vendetta was being published at DC. Their primary practice was what they called “culture jamming,” a concept derived from the 1960s French Marxist group the Situationist International, who proposed a similar practice called détournement. In the case of Adbusters, this usually meant creating media that at first glance looked like perfectly ordinary late capitalist advertising, but upon inspection contained anticapitalist messages and critiques of the corporations being parodied. One notable example, for instance, sought to highlight Coca-Cola’s use of death squads in Columbia to crack down on a unionization effort by taking Eddie Adams’s Vietnam War photo of the execution of Nguyễn Văn Lém so that a Coca-Cola logo appears flowing out of the gun like smoke. These tactics had an obvious aesthetic similarity to the sorts of memes popular on 4chan, and so it was unsurprising when people working under the Anonymous banner came out in endorsement of the demonstration. Which meant that when it happened there were once again a lot of Guy Fawkes masks going around.…

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Erudite Waffles (2/4/23)

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THE PANCAKES OF WRATH ARE WISER THAN THE WAFFLES OF ERUDITION.

What I’ve Been Up To

I finished up the script for Britain a Prophecy #7, at least to the point where I need to hand it off to Bob for edits. Past that it’s been a research week—I’ve been working through Storm Constantine’s first Wraeththu book for a piece that’ll probably be out to Patrons early next week, and doing some other reading for LWIA v4. I’ve also been listening to a lot of Nine Inch Nails, which is once again Lexi’s malign influence, and am musing on serializing a Halo by Halo review series through these newsletter posts. 

Penn’s been doing character designs for Britain a Prophecy #5, which continues apace. Here, let’s give a preview of the uniforms for the fae army. 

We also got a new scene out for $10 Patrons, and a new behind the scenes post out for all patrons. 

Also, I just sold my first piece of fiction writing. No details I can share yet, but if you asked me “El, what would be your absolute top choice of ways to break into professional fiction writing” I’d be hard pressed to come up with a better one than this. I can’t wait for this one to come out. 

Some Movie Reviews

Man, it’d be *great* if I could post these here, but I actually gate my media reviews to my $2+ Patrons so you’ll have to go there to find my reviews of Cruising and Manhattan Baby.

Some Tumblr Asks

These I don’t gate! My asks remain open, and so, for what it’s worth, do Penn’s. 

Favourite Kibble track? (Alex’s goofy project)

“What Time Is It?”

How long do you think it will take for you to reach the present day in Last War in Albion? Another ten years? More?

There are way too many variables to even begin trying to predict that. What I’ll say is that it’s a project I generally enjoy working on, and that I regret leaving it fallow as long as I did, even as I recognize those years were not actually ones I was in a place to devote it attention. But also, it’s a lot of work, and there’s other stuff I want to do too, and, like, if I sell a novel or get an ongoing comic series that work is going to come out of LWIA time. So I can’t promise full time work on it for the next year/five years/ten years. Hell, I don’t like to promise full time work on it for the next month, because, as January showed, sometimes it turns out I really need to write 8000 words about 90s singer songwriters.

But I like Last War in Albion and I want to do right by the project. So I’ll do the best I can, but wouldn’t want to estimate any sort of timeframe beyond “well, hopefully before I’m dead.”

How much of Britain a Prophecy do you plan in advance vs write as you go along ?…

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“I never set my suitcase down”: Margo Price, country music, and the triumph of struggle

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CW: Infant death, reference to eating disorder

Music memoirs face biographies’ usual problem of being tasked with turning the inherently chaotic narrative of a person’s life into a coherent novel-shaped story.  Sometimes artists innovate in the space — Bob Dylan’s hilariously titled Chronicles Vol. 1 is notoriously 75% delightful bullshit. More often though, artists will spin an narcissistic mythology about themselves, reveling in the glories and pitfalls of stardom (which more often than not are the same thing).

Alternative country and rock singer-songwriter Margo Price is uniquely situated to dodge the music memoir’s trademark solipsism. Price’s brand of hippie-cum-psychedelic folkie demarcates her from any particular subculture. She comes out of the Nashville country music scene, but she has more in common with singer-songwriters who are external to mainstream country, such as Sturgill Simpson or Brandi Carlile, than Hot Country Songs blights like Florida-Georgia Line or Luke Combs. Price is by no means obscure — her first album landed her on Saturday Night Live, and she’s covered Cardi B’s “WAP” for The Daily Show. But Price’s brand of rollicking ballads about struggling to get by and alcoholic depression evince a working-class solidarity and folkie pride that don’t get much air time in commercial country.

Price’s memoir Maybe We’ll Make It counteracts the narcissism of memoirs by showing just how hard-won her career is.  The book tracks her losses, disappointments and tragedies in grueling detail yet with engrossing depth. Price’s childhood in rural Illinois is marked by an eating disorder and her Midwest family losing their farm. In early adulthood, she drops out of college, hits the road, and spends several impoverished years in Nashville hovels. By the time Price’s beloved dog has died and her apartment has been flooded with sewage, it almost seems like maybe part of Maybe We’ll Make It defines it. If one can ding the book for anything, it’s that Price’s listing of her various disappointments becomes almost repetitive. Which isn’t a terrible problem to have: plenty of strong albums have extraneous songs. And Price, who adamantly refrains from utilizing a ghost writer, writes astonishing prose. The book’s prologue reads like classic rural literature: “I watched the bloodred Midwest sun as it set past the crooked tree line at the edge of our property.” The book feels like Price’s songs sound: the tales and reflections of a traveling balladeer who’s seen a little too much and needs to write it all down.

The most heart-rending and upsetting part of Maybe We’ll Make It constitutes Price’s loss of her infant child Ezra, with a gut-punch where a doctor tells her “technically he’s still alive.” It’s a story about the endless process of building one’s life while incessantly falling short of outright success, a rebuke to the standard mythology of making it big at just the right moment. Ethan Hawke has spoken about how obscure country singer Blaze Foley makes strong biopic material because he never got a big break. Price shows that failure is often more instructive than success, resulting in an at times extraordinarily upsetting but profoundly moving piece of autobiography. …

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