Interview with professor and novelist Timothy Schaffert, the new web editor of Prairie Schooner. Founded in 1926, Prairie Schooner is today a  literary quarterly published with the support of the English Department at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and the University of Nebraska Press. Current editor Hilda Raz recently won the 2010 Stanley W. Lindberg Award in Literary Editing.

Marcelle Heath: I’d like to start off by discussing the pleasures and pitfalls of online reading. What are your thoughts regarding reading habits and readership in general?

Timothy Schaffert: When I’m on the computer and I’m online, I’m generally doing fifty things at once. I start reading an article, I follow its links, I remember something I’ve been meaning to look up, so I look it up, then remember something else… in other words, I’m in a constant state of hitting pause, not to reflect, but to meander, to investigate something else. But literature calls for a full immersion; you want to turn yourself over to the author, and follow her lead. So though I do read fiction and poetry online—both new and old—the shorter it is, the more likely I’ll make it to the end of it without flitting away in search of information, or hyper-checking my email, or falling into the gaping maw of Facebook updates. But it’s while I’m online that I most often discover the work that I want to read offline.

Heath: What literary magazines, both print and online, do you see doing great things?

Schaffert: I’ve been rejected at some point by nearly all of them, so that colors my perspective. But it is dizzying how many journals are doing great work—clearly contemporary lit can thrive, even in less prosperous times. I confess to a weakness for the typographical excesses and giddy design schemes of McSweeney’s, which is kind of a literary Barnum-and-Bailey. I’ll probably never get around to reading the issue that’s designed like a newspaper, but I sure do love having it in my possession. The Normal School is a good-looking journal, and I admire the work they’re doing at Electric Literature. I love Fairy Tale Review, though I must disclose that I’m guest-editing an upcoming issue. The mini-books of featherproof books are a refreshing and charming approach to the publishing of short fiction. But, as a Nebraska native, I’d be remiss in not citing some of the literary projects (in addition to Prairie Schooner) with Nebraska origins: Cerise Press is a very classy online journal; both Octopus Magazine (an online poetry journal) and The Cupboard (a print quarterly) have editors who’ve spent some time in the University of Nebraska-Lincoln’s creative writing program, and the journals have gained national attention. Fine Lines, a journal based in Omaha, started as a teacher’s classroom project and brings a kind of good-spirited democracy to the publishing process.

Prairie Schooner Summer 2010

Heath: Tell us about your position as web editor for Prairie Schooner

Schaffert: Hilda Raz had the foresight to create a position that’s focused on digital development from an editorial perspective rather than a technical one; she has indicated that she wants me to bring a distinctive voice to Prairie Schooner’s online presence, to shape it into something singular and directed, even as it takes on multiple roles. I’m still just getting my feet wet, and picking up on the progress made by the journal’s managing editor, James Engelhardt, but my plan is to assume an editorial role with the blog, structuring it so that it’s offering a running commentary on the state of contemporary lit—and, at times, on the state of classic literature in contemporary culture—with postings from our staff and contributors. I suspect the blog may become a bit more essayistic than is conventional, but we want postings of depth, in the spirit of the print journal. And I’ll join in on other conversations happening at other literary blogs and websites. We’re also working in partnership with the University of Nebraska’s Center for Digital Research in the Humanities on a website that will feature born-digital multimedia work that is informed and influenced by the print journal, past and present. And I’m always trying to figure out how to best use social networking in a way that’s more than just promotion, or to at least keep up with the networks that are most relevant to the magazine’s purposes. But I’m not interested in having our online presence be equal parts everything—so we’ll always remain open to revising our approach as new online avenues emerge and old ones close. And it’s all, ultimately, in service of the print journal.

Heath: How does Prairie Schooner see its role in the changing online literary landscape?

Schaffert: The journal has been continuously publishing since 1926, and it keeps growing, keeps gaining support for its mission. Prairie Schooner will always publish new work by exceptional authors. Among the journal’s readers will be literary agents and book publishers, who will then carry the authors and their work to even more readers.

Heath: How has the economic downturn affected Prairie Schooner as a university affiliate?

Schaffert: Prairie Schooner and its editorship are endowed in perpetuity by the Glenna Luschei Fund for Excellence at Prairie Schooner at the University of Nebraska Foundation. Which is to say, the journal has great support from individuals such as Glenna Luschei and also from the university, which considers the journal a major part of its commitment to the humanities. And Hilda’s commitment to the journal has had lasting effect. A good editor must do more than just publish good work; she also makes sure the publication is respected and recognized for that good work.

Heath: Prairie Schooner is one of a handful of prestigious journals that only accepts paper submissions. Will Prairie Schooner move to an online submission system like Submishmash?

Schaffert: That conversation comes up every now and again, and the folks who manage the slush pile are aware of the possibilities. But I’ve not heard any specific plans in the works.

Heath: Prairie Schooner has consistently ranked among the best and most prestigious journals in the country. What’s your secret?

Schaffert: If there are any company secrets, they’ve not been revealed to me. But if I were to speculate, I’d guess that, as the journal gained esteem, as its stories and poems were anthologized and awarded, it managed to attract submissions from other serious writers. And once a journal is associated with well-respected authors it becomes catnip for other authors looking to publish their work. The journal can only be as successful as the quality of work it receives. Also, there’s been a loyalty to Prairie Schooner by the authors who published early work in the journal, writers such as Cynthia Ozick, Steve Stern, Maxine Kumin.

Heath: When can we look forward to reading Prairie Schooner’s archives online?

Timothy Schaffert

Schaffert: JSTOR is digitalizing the archives, so we’re hoping the project will be completed soon. Once it is, you’ll be able to access Joyce Carol Oates’ first published story and the last poems published by Charles Bukowski in his lifetime. You’ll be able to read work by Dylan Thomas, Eudora Welty, Rita Dove, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Truman Capote, Toni Cade, Sharon Olds, Raymond Carver, and Cyrus Colter. Over 80 years of literary history.

And Project Muse currently makes current issues available, and issues dating back to 2003.

Heath: I’d like to discuss your eloquent response to Ted Genoways’ “The Death of Fiction?” in Mother Jones, which I’ve reprinted here.

The small literary press has long sought out its smallness. It emerged to publish that work that wouldn’t be published elsewhere, literature without the popular appeal that would warrant substantial publisher investment—in other words, it is by its very design obscure, challenging, and enigmatic. Therefore, a literary journal often relies upon patrons, universities, endowments, grant funding, and other pursuits to fulfill its mission, rather than setting commercial goals and seeking wide readership.

If cultural significance were a factor in the lit journal’s survival, it would have been dead on arrival. Ultimately, the journals provide a suggestion of an aesthetic that doesn’t exist in the otherwise noisy and unsightly culture, the printed page a link to a legacy we respect. Fiction and poetry requires a different level of attention than news and biography; major publications eliminating short fiction from their pages seems less a sign that the end is near than an acknowledgment that the weekly/monthly magazine is better suited to conveying information and opinion than it is at engaging the reader in an artful endeavor. The market for new fiction may be declining, but I’m still overwhelmed by the amount of new work available in books and journals (and often new books contain material that originated in journals).

The threats to university literary journals may have less to do with a recognition of a sudden irrelevance than a short-sightedness on the part of artless bureaucrats faced with the beautifully slim budgets of “publishing” online. Journalism and art have long relied upon a partnership that may not necessarily be beneficial to either; calling for fiction writers to write more like journalists may not be the solution. The mysterious appeal of poetry and fiction, the romantic nature of the writing and reading of it, the desire to publish your work and the work of others, drives a commitment to the literary journal’s longevity and its quiet role in giving voice to the imagination.

The question of cultural relevance definitely hit a nerve with many writers and editors, especially the notion that writers and editors were disengaged with the public sphere, when in truth most rely on other means of income to write in the first place. Any thoughts about the vociferous response to the article?

Schaffert: When a mainstream publication concerns itself with literary matters, it tends to get the rapt attention of writers and editors. The Mother Jones article was clear and to-the-point; but it was also relatively short, so it invited debate and speculation. It’s been a while since I’ve read the responses, but I seem to recall people debating many different aspects of the essay—even making Genoways’ salary a point of contention. So people were responding not only to what was being said, but challenging his authority to say it. But often the surest way to incite an arts community is to take the stance of a cultural scold, to tell artists they care about the wrong things. Surely all writers have at least once been told—by an editor, a teacher, a family member—that they shouldn’t be writing about what they’re writing about. Your writing is too domestic, its characters aren’t worthy of literature, it’s too fabulist or it’s too realist, it’s too cold or it’s too sentimental, it’s too domestic or it’s too political. And in the case of the Mother Jones piece, it’s the very life of all literature that’s presumably at stake. And I think if you write phrases like “most American writers,” you’re probably going to get people flustered. It’s difficult to make generalizations about the publishing community, or to even identify it as a community, because I can’t imagine it humanly possible to read everything new that’s put in print. It’s probably not possible to read even a fraction of everything that’s new. You could have a very productive year reading incredibly inspiring work that was never reviewed in any major publications. If there’s a problem with contemporary fiction, it’s not a dearth of good work, but the glut of it. I’m not sure how you’d even go about beginning to characterize the writing public—as Genoways points out, the writing programs are churning writers out by the thousands. But at the heart of his essay was a twinge of nostalgia I could appreciate—he wants contemporary literature to matter more to the general public, and in his mind the fault rests with the writers and publishers. In my mind it rests with the general public. But for me to say that is to make one of those sweeping generalizations, I suppose. Ultimately people will discuss that Mother Jones piece for some time to come—just as I sit here discussing it still—which seems to suggest that, even if fiction is indeed dead, we’re still quite preoccupied with taking its temperature.

Heath: What’s Prairie Schooner’s vision in the next five years?

Schaffert: After over 20 years at the helm of the journal, Hilda Raz is leaving. Since she just launched her website, I hesitate to say that she’s retiring; I’m sure she has many projects in the works. Because Hilda was also a professor of poetry in the creative writing program, the search is on for another accomplished poet, editor, and teacher, and that person will be envisioning the magazine’s future, based on the foundation built by Hilda and the editors before her.