When
Literature Becomes Nomenclature: An Editorial
The
power of the written word is its ability to capture an image that
encompasses within its frame the entire culture of a certain group of
people at a specific time in history. Why do we still read certain novels
with characters who wear doublets and silk breeches, while we ourselves
have taken to sporting t-shirts and blue-jeans? Partly because the great
writers of the past, including Milton, Chaucer, and Voltaire, wrote of
emotions that are commonplace in any society irregardless of its various
eccentricities in wardrobe choice, selection of vernacular, or any other
detail that makes a civilization distinct in history. It is because so
much of the plight experienced by the characters in classic novels is
universal and felt by all at one point or another; Because of the
commonalities we share with certain characters in literature. All of which
is true in regards to great literature and why it is remembered, but that
is not always the singular reason. It also has to do with preservation of
times long past in the collective memory of humanity. Although history
tends to cover the major events during a time period, it often overlooks
the people of the time, as well as their various habits, life styles, and
personalities. Literature can capture these expressions down and keep them
recorded so that a better detailed portrait may be painted of the ages
past.
This is
the primary reason we still read books by F. Scott Fitzgerald, that
self-destructive Jazz Age author who wrote of times of merriment and heavy
consumption of alcohol only years before all of it would be swept away
when the Great Depression hit. Fitzgerald took up his pen and wrote down
the essential folly inherent within the 1920s, and despite taking part in
the activities that the time prescribed with reckless abandon himself, he
also managed to convey the inner knowledge that what was going on was
futile and ridiculous at heart. The fact that it all ended in the
Depression only further proves this, but even before America entered a
period of economic crisis, Fitzgerald was aware that all of this partying
and superficiality would eventually end dramatically. He could not have
foreseen the foundation that the American economy is built upon suddenly
going belly-up and letting everything that America had worked for
financially go to seed, and yet, Fitzgerald knew deep inside that
something would eventually end the laughter and recklessness.
Authors
observe the people around them and record it because history will not.
This naturally adds an essential element to literature’s relevancy in
regards to science, mathematics, and medicine. When an author is not only
able to put down their thoughts on to paper, but also the thoughts of the
time through keen observation of everyday life, they are regarded as the
literary equivalent to a clairvoyant. Their reputation receives an
automatic redo from its original place in contemporary fiction to classic
literature. Because they can write down the times with a crystal-clear
conception always pumping out insight after insight, they are ensured a
place in history. Of course, the relevancy of their writing in changing
the shape of modern literature also has a lot to do with remembrance. But
for the most part, it is an author’s take on the time period they live in,
as well as any insightful and original thought about the age that cements
their reputation in history as one of the greats.
Another
thing the classics have going for them is spontaneity. Great authors
rarely write with much discipline in regards to morality or anything else
that might hinder the creative process. Their quill does not slow because
of obtuse thought that points out what is fit the print, and in turn, they
are remembered as greats for their uncensored and, in most cases, neutral
body of work. All of these factors might describe as to why we remember
certain authors, but it does not explain why we do not recall the works of
particular writers in history. Where did they go wrong in their writing so
as to be forgotten? Generally, it has to do with giving in to sensibility.
During the rule of the Soviet Union over Russia, a number of writers would
follow guidelines so as not to be regarded as counterrevolutionary. They
censored their work for fear that the Soviets would take their heads, and
because of their concern for their own safety over their literature, they
produced work that was substantially different from what they might have
created had they not been under the Iron Curtain. Whereas they might have
made books that would today be regarded as monumental pieces with
relevancy that will last through the ages, these writers instead buckled
under the demands of the Soviet Union and ended up producing only
second-rate work. This tendency towards self-preservation is not inherent
in any great writer, primarily because many of them were in the right
place at the right time. How would William Faulkner have written if he had
been in Red China? It is probable he would be remembered as a stinted
writer who never utilized his full potential. Would we remember Jane
Austen and the Bronte sisters if they had all not been born with a
tendency towards secrecy and in a house with plenty of places to conceal
stacks of manuscripts? It is doubtful.
So thank
God that some authors were born were they were, and lament the fact that
others were brought up in less hospitable conditions, right? It should be
just that simple, and in a way, it is, but there is a middle-ground that
remains untouched in this editorial: that of the writer who falls into
habit. This is the writer who abides by the rules, who writes by a set
standard and formula for literature. In essence, this is an author who
lacks the guts to be great. History is understandably harsh to such
cowards of the literary world for the opposite reason it glorifies the
writers with courage: writing with reality to back it up. What exactly
makes literature real? Simply put, it is written by an author with the
gall to stand up to the masses; to fight for his/her individuality and
create work that does to buckle under the clamor of the conformed crowd,
the harsh eye of the legal authority, the demand of the reading audience,
or the dissenting view of contemporary writers. It is an endurance and
inner strength that carries a writer through subjugation and into
greatness.
The
author that currently resides in oblivion is the author who surrendered
their creativity for a watered down version that had been pre-approved by
the masses. He/she is also the author who fell into writing nomenclature
instead of actual literature. The writer who becomes disciplined in their
literary pursuits is somewhat of a coward, but mostly a living lethargy.
This is the author who does not pursue new avenues, who does not
experiment, but instead resides only in what has already been said. This
writer has little to no opinion about the future; instead they are
well-grounded into the same ol’ same ol’. To an extent, their lack of
literary energy in due to laziness, but in the majority of cases, it is
because of cowardice. Why set out on your own when everything has already
been provided for you here? Why go out in the world when you can stay in
the shelter of home? Possibly because where you are is generally where you
can easily write with being perturbed. I can see the perspective of a
writer who wishes to stay within their comfy abode instead of entering a
No Man’s Land. They have the tools to write at their disposal, the skill,
and a desk and chair which provides them a place to sit and work on
whatever particular medium they choose. So what is the point in venturing
outside where things are harsher and uninviting to a writer who needs some
stability in order to produce? There is no point, except for the fact that
safety is more concerned with self-preservation rather than
self-realization, and the writers who are more concerned with themselves
than with their writing generally produce second-rate work. Even authors
who produce so as to provide for their family are more likely to create
something wholly original and excellent than the author who hides away in
a cubbyhole with their pen and paper at hand.
Look at
William Faulkner and Ernest Hemingway. At one point in their respected
careers, they produced a novel that they considered inferior to
themselves. With Faulkner, it was SANCTUARY (1931), and with Hemingway, it
was TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT (1937). Of his one opportunist novel, Hemingway
was later to say it was a “piece of junk,” and both critics and readers of
him apparently concur with this sentiment. As for SANCTUARY, Faulkner
never was to regard it as anything more than one of his lesser works. Then
again, Faulkner regarded even his best novels as “splendid failures,” so
perhaps his opinion on his own works isn’t as valid as Hemingway’s.
Nevertheless, it agrees with the theory that when great authors write work
of substantially lower quality, it is generally because they conceived in
the hopes of a golden egg instead of writing without caring whether or not
what they had was good. Economic stability should be the least of any
author’s worries, at least if they want to produce serious work, and the
author who writes for money is generally akin with an author who writes
for fame. Except, of course, a good number of history’s greatest authors
supposedly wrote for both power and money, so why are they still
remembered? Although a number of famous authors were writing only
themselves, they did not write with an actual the detachment from the
working process. They did not envision a future for themselves and
themselves alone, but instead managed to retain their greatness by writing
about the future for all of humanity. It has been earlier noted that this
is a quality of most of paramount literature, and in the case of forgotten
writers, this is a quality they severely lack due to a selfishness that
tends to co-exist with laziness.
An
author who writes with only the bi-products of their work in mind is
generally forgotten because they produced for shallow reasons, but to a
greater extent, it is also because they observed narcissism without
glimpsing true humanity. They coincide in oblivion with writers who fell
into a particular discipline that established their motivations, opinions,
and thoughts with forcefulness. Whether it be the personal greed of one
author or the fearfulness of another, these authors are all members of a
race that is long forgotten, and yet still gaining more and more members
at a frightening speed to this day.
Here's
to the tenacity of today's writers. Bottoms up.
Written by Cyanne Topaum
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