James Wood: The Nearest Thing to Life
I listened to James Wood’s lectures online and found him an unusually positive literary critic, uplifting and inspiring to listen to. I was initially surprised about how much time he spent not actually speaking about ‘books’, but about his life. I suppose this should have been expected when considering his title; writing, reading and life are for him inextricably linked.
His ideas did inspire me to read more fiction, but also inspired me to start writing more myself. His eloquent descriptions of ‘serious noticing’ completely rang true with me, and described a skill that I think I am good at practicing myself, although usually through my photography and visual media work. Wood’s thoughts on the subject reminded me how much opportunity there is to ‘seriously notice’ through written text as well as visually; perhaps something I have strayed away from as my degree (BA Art History, Visual Culture and English) has focussed more heavily on visual arts practice than literature.
I thought that Wood’s discussions about religion and fiction posed a fascinating comparison when considering what the reader is being asked to ‘believe’. In fiction, we often know that what we are reading is not ‘real’, but we choose to believe in the story and become absorbed in its meaning anyway. We value the experience and usually believe that we can learn something; somebody else’s make-believe is important enough for us to engage and connect with deeply. However, in religious texts the idea of ‘realness’ and authenticity is much more important in terms of teaching and guidance for life.
I spoke to my own peers about their value associations towards fictional and non-fictional books, and found that they generally thought they gained more pleasure from fictional works;
“I prefer fiction as a method of escapism”
“I prefer fiction because it provides more of an escape and fiction is often more varied”
“I find fiction more “easy reading” but love biographies to learn about real people’s real life experiences”
“I prefer fictional novels as I generally read for pleasure. However, I believe non-fictional books are important for educational purposes”
There was an underlying association between fiction as simple or easy reading, and non-fiction as more challenging and offering more learning opportunity. I can understand why this could be people’s first impression, but on further reflection I think most people would see the value of reading fictional work for education and societal learning, as well as escapism. My own view is that much can be learnt from fiction, but I do think it depends on the books in question. Unlike the majority of peers I interviewed, I do have a personal preference for ‘classics’ – but perhaps this is due to my path of study in degree level English Lit.
The main concern among those I spoke to seemed to be around elitism and pretentiousness of labelling a work as a classic: “what is considered ‘classic’ can be very limited, especially if we are referring to the canon which is very biased towards white men.”
This is very true, and my own ‘favourite’ kind of books to read would be modern classics, particularly ranging across cultures and social demographic of authors. However, I do value the gatekeeping and recommendation status that comes with a book that has been well-reviewed, won awards, or is considered a classic.
I enjoyed Italo Calvino’s Why Read The Classics?, but I do keep in mind that these benefits may be equally found in ‘non-classic’ texts as well.
Italo Calvino: Why Read The Classics?
Calvino’s book raised some interesting questions about what makes a classic and how we should define a ‘classic’ or ‘great’ piece of literature. I’ve picked out some that resonated with me…
We are always ‘re-reading’ the classics; nobody wants to admit to a lack of knowledge about an important text! In some ways this is intimidating, especially for less confident readers. Elitism could be problematic here.
The classics “exercise a particular influence” – they are formative in the ways that we think and develop. Messages and meanings saturate our unconsciousness, and Calvino described the way that we don’t realise this at the time, but on a re-reading we discover that a classic text is perhaps where some of our ideas/assumptions/ethics have come from. He also describes the ‘traces they have left on culture’ and describes the lasting effects of classic texts like The Odyssey.
Contemporary author Philip Pullman reasserts the idea of books as moral guidance that penetrates deeper than direct social instruction; “We don’t need a list of rights and wrongs, tables of dos and don’ts: we need books, time, and silence. Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever.” — Philip Pullman
A true classic will have “never exhausted all it has to say” – endless possibilities for re-interpretation. The ‘Death of the Author’ notion is pleasing to think about here, as so many new readers throughout various temporal and geographical contexts have the potential to react to a piece of literature. Each of their interpretations should be valued and add to the growing paratexts surrounding a work.
Calvino also describes the way in which sometimes critical discourse can act as a kind of ‘smokescreen’ which inhibits and masks the initial ‘pure’ reading experience. This is problematic particularly in scholarly approaches to books, as we accompany the reading so often with another person’s interpretation. There is also the issue of a ‘classic’ deviating from an image that we already have of it; we rarely approach a classic that is completely unknown to us.
Ultimately, no one kind of reading is going to suit everybody, especially in an ever-evolving and complex world. People read for different reasons and must make their own value judgements about what brings them pleasure or benefits their learning. Therefore, it is important that a wide range of texts remain available, and that judgement and prejudice against certain types of reading are minimised in cultural commentary.