Today, the literary truths revealed in the back issue of a New Yorker will forever bleaken my otherwise rosy existence, and life as I know it will never be the same. I am forevermore denied the G-d given right to trust, nay love.
The Gossip Girl series was based on a marketing formula.
Why the lies? Why the deception? What has left dozens, if not scads or handfuls of readers beseeching the heavens why they have devoted their young lives replicating a lie is of no consequence to the publishing whore Alloy Books. To Alloy, these fragile and superficial minds are just mere notches on their belt. A belt that not only cinches in the upper east side of Gossip Girl territory, but other bitchy-teen lit series such as The A-List, Private, The Clique, and The Luxe. They have even damned themselves so far as to own the rights to the Sweet Valley High series.
Alloy Entertainment is not only in the business of sodomizing American popular literature as we know it, but screwing over their employees as well. “Alloy authors generally own a fifty-per cent stake in their work. Alloy retains the intellectual-property rights to all the work, but writers share in the revenue generated from the rights.” Ultimately, the Alloy marketing team sits down in a board meeting and decides what they should name their newest train wreck of a protagonist and BAM, ex-coke head role models like Serena Van DerWoodson are born. Although Cecily von Ziegesar (an Alloy editor) did pen the entire Gossip Girl series, other less high profile books are written by ghost writers. More often than not these syntax slaves are fresh out of college, with no experience whatsoever completing an entire novel. However, like trained feces slinging monkeys, the novice authors are trusted to fill in the blanks. They are left with little creative license, as the majority of the plot and character descriptions have already been decided before a panel that is well versed in what will and won’t sell. These plot and character devices are created to best suit the current American audience, and what would best benefit from a supplementary television series.
Enter Gossip Girl (in it’s third season, mind you) and their own take on the sullen undead teen angst bandwagon, Vampire Diaries.
There is no denying that the company is successful, if not soulless. Cecily Von Ziegesar is rumored to have written a book in a weekend, basically the same amount of time it takes me to get over my recurring fear of Jose Cuervo before I get on its metaphorical bull ride of defeat again.
While I admit the necessity of controlling every aspect of a lucrative business in this troubled and bruised economy, a little piece of the magic has died. What of the shallow and evanescent friendship of Blair and Serena? The emo and somewhat obnoxious tendencies of Dan Humphrey? For G-d’s sake what about Chuck Bass? The one precious jewel out of this box of tawdry and STI infected baubles, are the life lessons this series has taught me. While I have no right to wield a head band of power like the wise and ruthless Blair Waldorf, I can aspire to someday owning her accessories collection. Which is, in the end, is all that truly matters.
Mead, Rebecca. "The Gossip Mill." The New Yorker 19 Oct. 2009: 62-66. Print.
No comments:
Post a Comment