"First of all, writing at best - certainly fiction writing - more and more I think is magic"
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Calling fiction “magic” is Acker’s way of rescuing writing from the polite categories that try to tame it: craft, entertainment, product. Magic is suspect and powerful at once. It’s what you turn to when ordinary language has been drafted into propaganda, therapy-speak, or the market’s bland assurances. For Acker, whose work raided plagiarism, pornography, punk energy, and canonical texts with equal disrespect, “magic” isn’t an airy compliment. It’s a claim about transformation through force.
The hedges matter: “at best,” “certainly,” “more and more I think.” She isn’t delivering a manifesto from on high; she’s staging a conversion in real time. That self-interruption signals experience talking, not doctrine. Fiction, specifically, becomes the site where rules can be broken without asking permission. Not because fiction lies, but because it can rewrite the terms of reality - identity, gender, authority - by making them feel contingent. Acker’s novels often operate like spells assembled from stolen materials: collage as incantation, repetition as ritual, shock as a way to puncture numbness.
Context sharpens the intent. Coming out of 1970s-90s counterculture and feminist battles over who gets to speak and how, Acker treats authorship itself as contested territory. Declaring writing “magic” is also an activist move: it insists words can alter bodies and social arrangements, not just describe them. The subtext is blunt: if power is maintained by narrative, then narrative is one of the few weapons that can hit back.
The hedges matter: “at best,” “certainly,” “more and more I think.” She isn’t delivering a manifesto from on high; she’s staging a conversion in real time. That self-interruption signals experience talking, not doctrine. Fiction, specifically, becomes the site where rules can be broken without asking permission. Not because fiction lies, but because it can rewrite the terms of reality - identity, gender, authority - by making them feel contingent. Acker’s novels often operate like spells assembled from stolen materials: collage as incantation, repetition as ritual, shock as a way to puncture numbness.
Context sharpens the intent. Coming out of 1970s-90s counterculture and feminist battles over who gets to speak and how, Acker treats authorship itself as contested territory. Declaring writing “magic” is also an activist move: it insists words can alter bodies and social arrangements, not just describe them. The subtext is blunt: if power is maintained by narrative, then narrative is one of the few weapons that can hit back.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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