I had two loves in my younger days: literature and basketball. Poetry is a finger roll, short stories are games, seasons are novels. Learning the system of one helped me understand the other. The rhythm of a good sentence, the pulse of a good story, the movements of a good stanza — all of these evoke the echoing slams of leather on hardwood, quick redirections, graceful flights and violent collisions.
Naturally, comprehension and performance are two very different things. Just because I loved to read and also followed my hometown Detroit Pistons to the promised land (thrice!) doesn’t mean I could hang in either field. Those who can’t — as they say — watch SportsCenter.
Nonetheless, I urge all literary folk out there to consider this past weekend’s cover story from the NY Times Sunday Magazine, “The No-Stats All-Star.” Michael Lewis profiles Shane Battier of the Houston Rockets. Battier isn’t so much his subject as the way Battier plays, and the new metrics being devised to track players like him.
Instead of being measured by points scored or rebounds grabbed or shots blocked, Battier’s bosses have discovered they can actually measure his impact in other less dramatic but hugely influential ways. For instance, how often he tips a rebound to a better-positioned teammate. Or how he directs the man he’s guarding to his least favorite positions on the floor. None of this makes the box score, but it all adds up. Many NBA games are decided by six points or less — and Battier earns those six points many times over, but without even scoring.
It made me think of the way we evaluate literature. Sure, we have our tool box of critical theories and traditions, and we train thousands this way and give them terminal degrees. But what are we missing? What are we overlooking? We say we value richly textured characters, carefully observed ambiguities, surprising and suspenseful action — but are these really the best MVP stats of a good author?
What do great writers do that we don’t generally celebrate? What is the tipped rebound of exceptional yet unadorned prose? What is the drawn charge of subtly crafted narrative?