Nonsense Literature and Why You Gotta Read It
Updated: 5 days ago
Nonsense lit refuses to treat anything with reverence, much like me who has gotten in trouble more than once for laughing at inappropriate times. Its closest genre neighbor is absurdism, but where absurdism contemplates and meditates on existential questions, nonsense lit rolls around in them like a dog in garbage. I need nonsense literature, and so do you. Here are a few reasons why:
Nonsense sets your brain free. "Oh, what nonsense!" you may have heard an older person say at some point in your youth. Yes! That's what I'm talking about. The kinds of things people dismiss because they don't or won't understand them. The art that cracks jokes without punchlines and tells stories that meander like a drunken philosopher. Remember Mad Hatter’s infamous riddle, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Carroll admitted he had no answer in mind. His intent has been debated by scholars for years, but I'll give you a freebie: it's whatever the hell you want it to be. Lean into it.
It's one of the few genres that trusts the reader. Most literature treats you like a tourist: here we have the theme, and over here's the symbolism, &etc. But nonsense lit shoves you into the driver's seat of a car, hands you a blank road map and some crayons to fill it in. Think about David Byrne yelping "Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est? Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, fa, better" in “Psycho Killer." Lots of Talking Heads lyrics can be placed in the nonsense category. They're delightful in their irreverence and playfulness. Donald Barthelme's story "The School" gives us a parade of dead classroom pets with deadpan delivery that makes it hilarious. Or profound? Or...? It becomes what you need it to be. Like the Mad Hatter example, it's up to you. No wrong answers, but no objectively right ones either. That's art, baby!
Chaos feels more honest than realism. Have you ever had a day when you saw a pigeon fight a hot dog wrapper? Cried in a CVS looking at the thirty-nine kinds of toothpaste? Tried to actually talk to someone at an airport but got thwarted by fourteen phone-tree menus (I'm looking at you, Palm Springs International)? Looked at TikTok for more than five seconds? Several of Barthelme’s stories, composed entirely of fragmented conversations, could be mistaken for my group chats. Nonsense lit takes that specific essence of modern absurdity and just lays it out in the sun and piles some bones it found on it and feeds the circling seagulls entire sourdough rounds. That's what people do on the beach, right? It's been a long time since I've been on a beach.
It rewires your brain, (which can make you more creative). As you read more nonsense literature, you'll feel your sense of reality start to shift. Do not be alarmed. It's a good thing. You're becoming more alert in a really useful way—you're finding connections between unrelated things, which is one definition of creativity. Welcome to the club. The password is flibbitybop, and we meet never. Or we’re always meeting. Whatever. Talk to the hand, circle gets the square, bananaphone.
Read it! There's lots of great nonsense books out there, but for some great examples of short stories, we’ve published "My Giraffe" by Lexi Franciszkowicz, "To Rundle the Parlous Hoon" by Matthew Amati, "Soup Line" by Tom Busillo, and "Please, God, Don't Let Dogs Die Anymore" by Douglas Hackle.
