Things I Know I Know

I think what matters in a story -- whether "fiction" or "nonfiction" (fuzzing the distinction on purpose) -- is "spirit." It's about the spirit that moves people and places and actions and even clouds across the sky. Such a story tells about that underlying "Thing" in a way that lets you feel its presence in your own self.

You know, if you are in a deep well in the daytime and you look up, you can see the "night" sky and the stars. They're always there, but the presence of sunlight bouncing around off all the air molecules creates so much disturbance of light that you can't normally see them during the day. But they're there. And I think our lives are lived in that kind of daylight, and that all the distractions of contemporary life, from movies to music to the television simply being "on" in so many houses, is that kind of bouncing and rebouncing diffractive interference that hides the stars so far out there.

A really good story is like a deep well, and when we sink down into its reality and then look back up at our own lives far above us, we see the stars. And we remember what's really there, even if only for a moment. We remember.

We remember that there is something out there, much much larger than we are, a thing that is ancient and eternal, and it fills us with awe. And then we know that this thing is WITHIN us, as well. We can feel the echoes of that night sky and of the distant galaxies vibrating in the cores of our bones. Then we know that it is what makes us Great and Noble, if only we care and dare to try living our Real lives instead of the frantic and distracted ones.

I don't think very much contemporary fiction has this in it. I think in trying to "connect" with contemporary readers it focuses on reflecting the very environment that obscures the stars to begin with. And I am not sure the writers themselves have ever seen the stars at this point, or believe that they're out there. We have filled the night with our own lights to the point where you cannot see the stars in the city. How then can a writer show them to anyone, if he or she has never seen them for herself?

I find this awareness in the fiction by Native authors, especially N. Scott Momaday. "The Ancient Child" is such a book, and whenever I begin to forget what the stars look like, and what they feel like inside me, vibrating in my bones, I read that book again, or even just parts of it. Of course, I have now just recommended a book -- but I don't think it will have the same meaning to someone else. It's merely an example of where I, personally, can catch sight of the Infinite, of Mystery, and it allows me to hold fast to what I know as Real. Surely there must be other authors elsewhere that do the same for other hearts. And if there are not, then they must be reborn. We humans cannot live without the stars.

Ah...spirit.

Hmmm. Things that make us bigger than we are. Things that move us to know things we didn't know before, to become things we weren't. But not--everything turned out perfect, we're all happy, the end.

One thing that strikes me is that what you write above sounds so huge and I think--that can't possibly fit into a little throw-away mystery novel (for example) but maybe that's the problem. Maybe the author thinks so too (that the big picture doesn't matter). I know that most fiction that I read, I think 'so what'? Usually well before I've gotten half-way through it.

The factors I think of--that they're pessimistic, that they're flat, that they're bland, that they're not interesting, that they're chaotic in ways that don't enhance them (not all these things, you understand, different things in different books)--would fit what you're saying. I don't learn anything from them, these books I'm not reading anymore, not even just reinforcing my place in the world.

I just finished a mystery novel that was totally mean-spirited about everyone in the book except the four men the main character considered worth trying to go to bed with. I'm halfway through another one where the main character's life is so much better than yours or mine or anyone else's in the book (she's just landed the dream job, the dream house, and her one true love from long ago--who she lost when she slept with someone else--has just come back into her life).

I used to think that there was some moral lack, though by moral, I definitely don't mean pre-marital sex or smoking pot or drinking too much. I mean something more along the lines of what I said a couple of months ago about Suspicion of Vengance where it's okay to cheat if you're the good guys, but if you're the bad guy and you cheat, well, it just proves that you're the bad guy. But this idea sure doesn't cover everything that turns me off. As I said, some of the fiction I look at is just not interesting.

Your thoughts I think begin to address both things. Thanks for sharing!

Dinner's almost done and I have to go eat, but I wanted to comment here that yours is the second post of this sort that I've seen on a Webjournal in the past two days. The other guy basically expressed the same feeling about fiction, and then made it his new year's resolution to write the kind of fiction he wants to read, since no one else is. (This is worth noting because this guy keeps a terrific Webjournal. I love reading what he has to say.)

So you're not the only one who's looking for something and not finding it.

I feel more ennui with fiction than I used to, fer shure. It takes a lot more (but of what? is the question) to engage and excite me, and even then one aspect (fantastical content) might get me going while another (characters) I couldn't care less about.

I'm reading this novel about a samurai, by Eiji Yoshikawa, translated from the Japanese into very colloquial, readable English. It's a popular novel from many decades ago. It's not a work of lit'ra'chooa. But it's engaging. I'm liking it.

I wonder if we're trying too hard to read good stuff, so that we're decreasing our chances of finding engaging stuff. One thing I was tempted to say to the Webjournal guy (Slithytove on Livejournal) was "How do you know the books you want to read haven't been written? Have you read everything?" I'm not saying that to you, or to him, for that matter, just setting up that: Maybe the answer lies somehow in our selection criteria or methods. I haven't thought this through past that, but I will muse on it as I eat and watch Kurosawa. :)

Interesting. Especially that someone else is having the same thoughts (whew, once again I'm pleased to discover it's not just me :-).

It's very possible (probably even likely) that there's good stuff out there I'm not seeing. I sure would like to find fiction that I like. Maybe when I go to the library I should just pick one random book to throw into the mix.

And, I admit, that I like what I write (otherwise it'd be kind of silly to write it) and if I leave it in a drawer long enough I can take it out and be thrilled by it all over again :-)

Still wrangling with the idea of what's missing in a lot of fiction these days. From what you posted, it sounds like the books you didn't like were failing to grapple with what *matters*. Maybe they were about things that matter to their authors, or maybe they were about things that their authors thought would matter to their readers (that part scares me more), but either way they didn't matter to you. And they were about people whose struggles didn't matter to you (and wouldn't to me either). When I think about political polls that show high approval ratings for politicians who care about things I strongly object to, and when I think about uncompassionate audience reactions in movie theatres, and when I think about how networks replace good science-fiction shows with appalling "reality" crap, I wonder whether what's missing in fiction is missing everywhere. Fewer and fewer people apppear to care about what matters to me. It makes sense that authors of fiction would be included among those who don't, or that market-savvy authors would write for them. Ick. A depressing train of thought, that the problem is in the Zeitgeist. That most American (or even Western) fiction now is a product of a weak, corrupted, selfish society. Ick ick.

Maybe the missing fiction is being written in other countries. Hmm.

If it's here and we're not finding it, I'm not sure what can be done, except find readers like us and share caveats and recommendations. But everyone's so different that that's harder than it sounds. A friend who shares my sensibilities won't share my interests, and vice versa.

On the other hand: There isn't enough time to read everything, so screw fiction! Keep reading the awesome nonfiction you read so you can keep posting about it here. :)

Hey, Dawn, that's a really cool post.

For me those stars aren't usually an intimation of the grand or infinite or awesome. For me I think what's revealed is more what it means to be a single human filled with stars, or that the plane of the world around me is filled with stars that mundane daylight obscures. But it's the same kind of experience you describe. Neat.

I am not yet totally convinced that our zeitgeist is the problem so much as the public personification of our zeitgeist. I sometimes feel as if the way people really live and the way we're told that we live on television and in movies and books are not at all in sync with each other.

Of course, I was in the theatre with the quiet people during _Two Towers_ so maybe it's just me :-)

And I've just finished reading a couple of interesting books upon which more later...