The Importance of Substack

Why Substack Matters (Especially in 2023)

Photo by Patrick Weissenberger on Unsplash

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I’ve been reading—and have almost finished—the novel Sentimental Education (1869) by the French author Gustave Flaubert. I’ll probably write a book review of sorts when I’m done and have absorbed it all. (And there is a lot to absorb.)

There’s a line in the novel that made me strangely think of Substack and which I love: “It was like a Stock Exchange of aesthetics.” The line was a reference to one of the character’s notions of starting, post February 1848 Paris revolution, a sort of Arts Commune for the working artists wherein Art would be valued as much or as or even more than (at least spiritually) commerce.

I stopped at that line, a Stock Exchange of aesthetics. I dragged my pen and highlighter out—this is how I read—and underlined/highlighted the line, adding little thick blue arrows with my pen to demonstrate the importance, to me, of the clause. And then of course I snapped a photo of the line with my iPhone. (And finally added to my special folder for this particular novel.) This is my weird, specific, meticulous method of reading and absorbing great literature.

The line made me think of Substack, as I said. If you go back to ancient times, say 2015, you’ll recall that, pre-Trump—that raging lunatic who plunged the nation into wild extremes on both sides—we more or less (most of us) basically trusted the major news organizations and papers. For the most part we trusted that when the New York Times said fill-in-the-blank, it actually happened more or less the way it was described in the paper. Fox News we knew exaggerated things and was a bit theatrical and sometimes more or less made things up…but that was fine as long as we didn’t have to be indoctrinated ourselves.

Then Trump and 2016 happened and everything changed.

Suddenly the Right was more ridiculous and the Left became more extreme and mired in social justice identity politics. A nasty cultural tug-of-war, which unfortunately sidelined reality, truth and decency on both sides, ensued. Old-school debates and arguments and differences of opinion were flung out for all-out war; it was Realpolitik hardcore.

For the first time in contemporary memory, both sides became suspect, and in many ways deservedly so. Censorship seemed to be on the rise, either regarding articles directly or in the sense of self-censoring in order to get published in the first place, or else from the angle that small but powerful activist groups pressured publishers to drop writers before they even reached audiences, or shortly after. Sometimes the activists succeeded, sometimes they failed. But either way it was censorship. (And they’re still doing it.)

This occurred not only with news, of course, but with fiction, memoir, personal essay, journalistic essays, etc. The scope of what one could fairly or honestly write about—once quite wide—had narrowed, to the point of becoming quite sadly myopic and, to use another golden overused 2023 ditty: Narcissistic. The boring, Orwellian moniker “inclusivity” actually in practice meant exclusivity. The phrase “cultural appropriation” meant you had to “stay in your lane,” whether it be essay, news or fiction; no longer could serious writers (to the extent any of these types were left) use their imagination in a deep, meaningful, open, risky, vulnerable way.

In short: Culture had cracked open exposing the raw nerves and hypocritical absurdity within, which many of us figured had been lying in wait for decades only needing the Molotov cocktail of anarchic stupidity in order to set off the explosive charge.

Enter Donald J. Trump.

But also, thankfully: Enter Substack.

The first time I ever even heard of the platform was in 2020 while strolling around the Great Lawn in Central Park, in Manhattan. All my life I’d identified as a Liberal. Born and raised in the small hippie town of Ojai, in Southern California, from a family littered with masters’ degrees like jewels in a crown, I’d lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for a decade before moving to Manhattan in 2019. Never once in my life have I voted for a Republican. Both my Boomer parents are centrist Democrats. I voted for Obama both times, and for Bernie in 16 and Biden in 20.

Yet the shift since 2016 of the party towards the fringe extreme “Woke” Left—I know the term Woke is beyond overused, is seen by many on the Left now as a “Republican talking point” and is close to meaningless, but you grasp what I mean here—has disheartened me greatly. I don’t think the fringe Left is evil or horrible or actively racist or trying to ruin Democracy or the country…I just think they’re hopelessly lost, naïve, and are taking us all backwards. (Ditto the Republican Party; two wrongs, as we know from history, do not make a right. Pun intended.)

Anyway, enough of politics.

My point is: By 2020 there was 100% a vacuum, a spot which needed, called out desperately to be filled. And that spot was filled by Substack.

The “spot” I refer to here is a more or less neutral, rational, thoughtful, unbiased (as far as that is humanly possible, of course, which is less than 100%) pro-free speech platform wherein anybody could say what they pleased. But we already had that with Facebook, Twitter, etc. Sort of. Regardless of what your views may be on the so-called “Twitter Files,” etc, the more important comment, in my opinion, is that those platforms, and other social media places like them, were good for outrage, fake culture, dishonesty and advertisers, and terrible for most of us real live good ole human beings: Complex, nuanced, layered, non-linear, social beings who were trying to be seen and heard.

Substack offered the best of both worlds: A free, fair and open platform, coupled with no advertisers, a subscription-based concept which linked writers directly to readers, a reasonable fee taken off paid subscriptions, and a platform that felt like it actually encouraged writers specifically, and more to the point: Thoughtful discourse.

Is it perfect? Absolutely not. I don’t think a “perfect” platform will ever exist, because platforms are designed by people, and people are biased, confused, genetically and environmentally-driven, and flawed.

But I think we’re pretty close, for the time being at least, to something which is highly satisfying. It’s simple to use. I am somewhat of a luddite and I’ve figured it out. The platform showcases bigger, successful writers and I’ve seen many from the political Right, and many from the political Left. I think that’s great. I think news and journalism and all writing, really, has always been intended to allow readers their own opinions based on what they were presented with. The job of a platform or news company or literary journal or podcast etc shouldn’t ever be to tell you how or what to think, but rather to give you what they got and let you decide for yourself. (Without the bad incentives which benefit the companies over the consumers.)

While it’s totally true that most newspapers and literary journals have always had a general bias towards the Left or the Right inherent in their mission, this shifted around 2016 from a typical and normal amount to…absurdism.

Nowadays we see news articles and journalism that read like op-eds…but incredibly aren’t op-eds. The bias is so blatant, so obvious, and so out-in-the-open that it feels like being slapped and spat on while simultaneously a hand is reaching into your pocket and snatching your money. It insults your intelligence.

The “downside” of Substack, or any open public platform, of course, is the same downside as Democracy itself: Anyone can express their ideas. I mean anyone. Since the turn of the 21^st century—when digital media really started shifting the physical book landscape, and self-publishing began to proliferate and the internet became everything—it’s become easier and easier for Joe Schmo to get on the computer and start dashing off their ignorant views.

But is that really any different from the twentysomethings who graduated from Yale and Columbia and Harvard who have a profoundly bent bias who’re writing at say The New Yorker or The New York Times who, even if they wanted to—and 99.999% of them do NOT want to—would not be able to get their potentially heterodox article past the editor? (Or just an article which hews to reality but happens to not back up the fringe-Left current view?)

(For the record I’m not suggesting that you “can’t trust” The New York Times but rather that, especially in certain culture war areas (read: Race and gender) the NYT has become close to unreadable, if you’re anyone who has serious critical-thinking skills and you don’t simply subscribe to A Tribe. That said, the NYT has made some progress in this area over the past 3-5 months.)

Anyway. I digress again.

There are some dumb views expressed on Substack. Some of them are expressed by “rubes” from nowhere, yet a great many are expressed by educated fools. Still, there remains a feeling, an environment, a digital landscape of Fair Play on Substack, and, to me, it seems like this has been sorely, brutally missing since 2016.

I tried really, really hard to get several of my 13 completed books published by traditional publishers. No dice. I couldn’t even get an agent, despite some very close calls. I did get a couple dozen short stories published in little literary magazines, including one which was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. But I finally realized, by 2022, that the time had come for me to let go of my wild old-school 20^th century dreams of getting an agent and having my books traditionally published. It just wasn’t going to happen in the environment in which we currently exist. My writing was and is too raw, too gritty, too real, too honest for our literary and cultural moment right now. And I know I am very much not alone.

Alex Perez said it all in his Hobart Review interview here.

I think of a brilliant, new young writer who published only one book, in 2017, probably one of the very last few which could squeak out like it, called My Absolute Darling. The author’s name, which I find humorous and perfect, is Gabriel Tallent. The book is told from a 14-year-old girl’s POV. She lives alone in the woods in the Pacific Northwest with her insane, violent survivalist father. There’s an incest rape scene which has never left my mind. Yet the story is arresting and gorgeous. Some of the physical nature writing is perhaps worthy of Steinbeck. But this novel could never be published now.

One day, I hope, the traditional publishing world will either crumble completely or the gates will be forced back open for all talented writers, regardless of being white, straight, male, and regardless of the level of violence, grit, raw intensity. I look forward to a day when liberalism, rationality, honesty, fairness, free speech and divergent, transgressive views (which can be held by anyone regardless of race or gender, including white straight men) are once more held in esteem.

Until that day comes, I will continue to write on Substack.