My New Novel/The Down Payment by Ottessa Moshfegh and Issy Wood (review)

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Reviewed by:

• My New Novel/The Down Payment by Ottessa Moshfegh and Issy Wood
• Rene Marzuk (bio)

my new novel/the down payment Ottessa Moshfegh and Issy Wood
Picture Books/Gagosian
https://gagosianshop.com/products/ottessa-moshfegh-my-new-novel-issy-wood-the-down-payment-book
32 pages; Print, $30.00

How does one go about interposing a critical layer between a short story and its prospective readers? What can the commentator do before a short story, other than pointing to the text? The form does not seem amenable to critical intervention. Giving away crucial elements could jeopardize the intended effect of pacing and compression, for instance, and in a short story every element is crucial. Whereas collections or anthologies offer the opportunity to tease out overarching themes or strategies, a single short story puts the reviewer in a bind unless one happens to be in the presence of something else entirely.

Ottessa Moshfegh's "My New Novel" is not a novel at all, but—you guessed it—a short story, although one that cannot be extricated from the circumstances of its publication. It is the initial offering from Picture Books, an intriguing new imprint from Gagosian, the well-known art gallery mammoth. According to its press release, Picture Books will focus on "publishing fiction by leading authors alongside contributions by celebrated contemporary artists." Writer Emma Cline, credited with the original idea, wanted to create a space where artists could respond to works of fiction, "a space for a new kind of dialogue between art and fiction."

The slim, hardbound volume featuring "My New Novel" has been soberly laid out by Peter Mendelsund, writer, designer, and creative director of The Atlantic. Protected by an inner sleeve, the book includes a folded reproduction of Issy Wood's oil painting The Down Payment (2021) that opens up to a 24" × 35.5" outsized poster. To date, Picture Books includes only one other publication in its roster: a pairing between Percival Everett's "Grand Canyon, Inc." and a photograph by Richard Prince.

I have purposely deferred any mention of the intrinsic attributes of either [End Page 40] Moshfegh's or Wood's pieces because I want to emphasize that we are in the presence of a composite piece. My New Novel/The Down Payment is in fact most interesting as a site of confluence between genres. It is not so much a book in the common sense of the word as it is a hybrid, experimental commodity presented as a beautiful object, somewhat in the proximity of an art exhibition catalog. In lieu of a reflection on the interconnection between art and literature, the piece offers itself as evidence of it. However, in lieu of a conversation between genres, what we get is a form of direct address: The Down Payment references "My New Novel," which in the exchange remains silent. What are we supposed to take away from this experiment?

The relationship between literature and visual art has a long tradition that moves in both directions, neither of which is new. Ekphrasis can be traced all the way back to Homer's Iliad, whereas art inspired by literature is probably as old as myth. As a space, My New Novel/The Down Payment asks us to look beyond each individual piece and into the interstitial expanse between them. We should wonder, for instance, about the specific nature of the relationship between "My New Novel" and The Down Payment, wherein the former is presented as originating context for the latter. Moshfegh's short story could be understood as either a sort of extended quotation—doubling as Wood's artist statement for her painting—or as a point of departure.

The Down Payment depicts a crying man in claustrophobic close-up flanked by chipmunks that provide a surreal frame to what reads as performative yet earnest sadness, a clear reference to Moshfegh's text. Woods effectively conveys the self-serving self-pity that makes Jerome Littlefield, the main character of "My New Novel," plainly unlikable. The accurately observed pouting face and the wiping fist, rendered in muted colors, perfectly capture the unnerving combination of protracted childhood, privilege, and entitlement that buttress Moshfegh's character...