all these words have been poisoned, right?

McKenzie Wark, interviewed at Believer:

… in Capital is Dead I wanted to ask the question of how have we innovated language—god, I hate that word, innovate. All these words have been poisoned, right? What’s the art, if I can say that, what’s the literary dimension of writing theory? It’s a genre of literature, Marx is a literary genius. We sort of lose track of that, creating language to describe new situations but in ways that don’t lose track of their genesis and genealogy. To write theory as a literary genre, to tackle that, rather than recycle these terms we picked up from the great famous names. 

BLVR: You mentioned in a previous interview that words just aren’t doing the work anymore and if they’re not doing the work we need to be creating new ones.

MW: I think to call it “bio-political-capitalism” or “neoliberal capital” or “post-fordist capital” or using a modifier that has a modifier on the front of it—it just strikes me as bad poetry. It’s the kind of thing an editor would strike. Here’s three words–what’s the one word that would do that job? If you keep using this old language you see how it’s connected to the past. There’s kind of an aesthetic dimension to theory as a genre of literature, and I want to make it fresh, make it new. A language of surprise. What I wanted to do in Capital is Dead is reinvigorate that sense of to write theory is a form of literature. 

So much this. My first Wark was her histories of the Situationists, and I’ve loved most everything I’ve read since then, particularly Molecular Red. And regular readers will know that I’m always-already on the same team as anyone who thinks “innovation” is a trash-fire suitcase word of the worst kind…

Elsewhere in this interview Wark points out that this isn’t about “dumbing down”, but rather a matter of avoiding the abstruse contortions and deference to deep specialist detail that academic theory can sometimes encourage. I’m probably biased, but I also feel that there are some disciplines where the horizontality and foxiness she’s advocating are more commonplace… environmental politics, f’rex, is a really small-c catholic field, less a discipline than an oddball bordertown at the juncture of a dozen different disciplines, where anything goes as long as it works. (By contrast, the old-school poli-sci folk at my department are, well, very old-school, with clear disciplinary and theoretical fidelity to a particular topic or approach. And there’s probably room for both?)

But yeah: part of the challenge of my own theoretical work (still pretty much on hold, because it’s not what I’m paid to do, and what I’m paid to do is keeping me plenty busy right now) is to absorb enough material from a big sheaf of fields and disciplines that I can demonstrate a useful grasp of it without getting sucked into the minutia, and then leap sidewise between/across/through those fields in such a way as to show conceptual connections that do explanatory work. S’why I’m assuming I’ll not have much of a chance placing it with a trad academic publisher, once I actually get it written; they’ll be like “please provide five keywords situating the work in the leading edge of the field” and I’ll be like “wait, I only get five?” That’s why Molecular Red was such an inspiration: partly because it’s a book that lives its own argument, so to speak—it doesn’t just argue for foxiness, it does foxiness—but also for the more direct feeling of “oh, wait, you can do this? You can write like this about this sort of stuff?” Easterling comes with a similar kick, as does late-style Haraway. Massive parallelism, unity of theme. Yes.

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