Dear MC,
I suppose many people ghost write because the writerly sort often does not want to be in the public eye. I mean, this isn't the case for every writer in the world, because I'm sure Lauren Conrad didn't publish her book under a modest hand. But the kind of observance a writer needs in order to be successful normally involves a certain level of distance from other people. Some people feed off ego; others feed off of anonymity. It's nice that it's a choice to not put your name out there, otherwise we'd have a lot less inspiration due to discomfort towards publicity.
Oftentimes I read people who had no problem being in the public eye. Many of my favorite writers participated in countless interviews and even had a YouTube page (cough cough John Green, cough). But as I expand to include classic literature, I realize many of the most inspiring writers were not only okay with, but wanted to be alone. As I identify more and more with these authors, it's put my whole introvert/extravert battle at (more) ease. Reading Emily Dickinson, I realize that staying completely secluded isn't always the best option (her poems sometimes got a bit too dark), but while I read books like Les Misérables and Jane Eyre, I tend to become more isolated and introspective.
Dickinson
While this leads me to believe that reading shapes the person, I've also always been naturally drawn towards realistic fiction. As much as I would love to fully engaged by fantasy novels, that hasn't been the case for 19 years. I love people watching, so my reading often reflects just sitting back at an airport and watching people's dynamics. Even in fifth grade, when we were taught to "expand our horizons," I curled up with Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and felt completely satisfied with that series.
So do you think someone's personality shapes their reading, or does someone's reading shape their personality? I suppose it's one of those nature/nurture debates. And you know how I feel about nature/nurture debates. It's like walking into a candy store with a thousand dollars.
I'm glad you brought up this topic, because I have stuff to say about it.
I'm a big fan of analyzing music in the same way some people analyze books. A lot of music has a good story behind it, like the series of songs Led Zeppelin wrote about Lord of the Rings ("Ramble On", "The Battle of Evermore", and "Misty Mountain Hop"). Also, as you know, there are entire bands who write songs specifically about specific stories, like Chameleon Circuit and Doctor Who and The Ministry of Magic and Harry Potter.
Like you said, purely instrumental music can also be analyzed. One of my favorite pieces of classical music is the Appalachian Spring suite by Aaron Copland. This piece tells the story of a pioneer wedding on the frontier. A lot of pieces of music are written with the intention of telling a story in this way.
I'm always trying to figure out the story behind the song and how it fits into the singer's life. Like, I was fascinated when I learned that the story behind Eric Clapton's song, Layla, was that Clapton feel in love with Patty Boyd, which was a problem for him because she was married to George Harrison. I think most songs, as long as they're good and written by someone who cares about music, have some sort of back story. I call this the Song-Novel. The problem is songs aren't as easy to analyze as novels. Usually you have to know something about the life of the person who wrote the song to be able to figure it out.
Which is why I have no respect for people who consistently sing/perform songs they didn't write. I'm not talking about covers here; I'm talking about who don't write their own songs. It used to be expected that if a band performed a song, they wrote it. These days, while a some people co-write songs, most people have nothing to do with the creation of their songs. While it can still be a good song, it lacks any real sincerity in performance. Books that are ghost written have the same problem. To me, it seems really insincere to have someone ghost write a book for you. While I have respect for ghost writers in general; I think if you want to write a book, you should write it yourself. Do you think it's possible to write a good book if you don't actually write it?
Dear Maria Cristina,
Part of what made English 200 such a tricky class, was that it often offered contradictory views. As the Formalists and New Critics demanded that only the text be looked at and the author/reader were totally irrelevant, other theories such as psychoanalysis and New Historicism claimed that yes, the author's intent matters and you Formalists can get off your high horses. Get some sober horses instead.
I must admit, coming out of the class I was all "New Critic happy" and to me, nothing but the text mattered. Forget readers; forget writers--the work was coming out of thin air! I was so against authorial intent, I almost tried giving myself half vision, where I could only see the top halves of books, while the author's name would be a blur.
Except I didn't. Because that would be weird.
Since then, I've reconsidered my views on literature.
I've found that the writer-text-reader inclusive theories are both more poignant and less narrow. Rhetorical theory allows the author's voice to grow stronger through the text, but not be dominated by the text. You can still enjoy a book without knowing an author's biographical history, but it enriches the reading experience to gain some insight on the context in which the author is writing.
Sometimes, however, the author can become overshadowed by the tone of the text. Take Vladamir Knabokov's (sp?) Lolita. We might read the text, and automatically pinpoint the author as a filthy, perverted old man. While he might just be taking a completely different perspective, it's easy to associate the author's perspectives with the text's perspectives. This happens almost constantly with actors. I mean, if I were to meet Daniel Radcliffe, the first thing I'd say to him is "marry me!" but the second thing would be "dude, you're Harry Potter!"
A piece of music that I would argue poignantly mimics this phenomenon is "Shadows" by Lindsey Stirling:
Her shadow has all the complex dance moves that hold our attention, while the artist is seemingly left in the background. At times, she seems to be copying the creation, rather than the creation copying her. That's not to say this always happens in literature, but sometimes the author becomes the text.
Which leads me to a question: Do you think music can be studied in the same way literature can? I know at the tail end of English 201 we studied The Sex Pistols in relation to Shakespeare. Was that stretching it too far? Or could we use the same methods to deconstruct music as we use for deconstructing literature? It's especially interesting with music sans lyrics. There's still a certain tone, a certain effect it has on the audience, but could musical methods be akin to rhetorical devices?
Peace and Ponies,
Kira
(I almost had to pause and try to remember what my spiritual name was. Then I remembered I didn't have a spiritual name. Has it only been 2 days?).
Again, I must answer your question with both a yes and a no.
I have a lot less experience with memoir than you, but I disagree with you when you say that 'memoirs' are disregarded as classics; The Diary of Anne Frank and Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass are two very good examples of classic memoirs. One of the earliest memoirs ever written, The Confessions of St. Augustine, is now considered a foundational text in Western Philosophy and Christianity. I guess the key to a classic memoir is to move beyond writing humorous stories about your life and personal experiences and write something that can transcend its genere to make a broader statement about life in general.
This all, of course, depends on what you define as a memoir. I have a very inclusive definition of the word. To me, a memoir is anything that somebody writes about their life. One can find published collections of letters and journals by many famous authors and political figures. For example, the letters of Abraham Lincoln (particularly the Bixby letter) are widely read by some people (but not by me). I don't know if you would consider this a 'memoir', but, if you do, then it is certainly a classic. (And, if you want to talk about biographies, there's a whole mountain of classic texts from Plutarch's Lives to the epic, biographical poem John Brown's Body.)
Besides that, there are a ton of classic novels that read suspiciously like autobiographies My personal favorite is David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens. Many historians have pointed out similarities between the lives of Copperfield and Dickens; David even became a novelist!
I know that these aren't the sort of memoirs you're thinking of. But, I think its important to remember that, until recently creative non-fiction for the sake of creative non-fiction was sort of looked down on. Memoirs are experiencing a surge in popularity right now, but a few hundred years ago, if you someone wanted to write about their life, they would probably do it in the form of fiction. So, I can sympathize with your memoir woe in that respect.
This brings up a question that I'm sure we both discussed in English 200 and that we perhaps even touched on in this blog before. How important are the author's autobiographical details in understanding a novel? If David Copperfield was a wholly fictional piece, would it still have the same emotional impact? Would it still be considered a classic?
Good evening. It's Monday, and I'm sitting here, listening to Mumford and Sons, procrastinating any semblance of finals-preparation.
Good life choices start in college. Remember that.
So, to answer your question, must an artist be tortured to produce a quality piece of work?
My answer is yes and no. We writers do love being concrete, don't we?
It's kind of dreadful to think that we are doomed to a life of misery just to be able to create. There's gotta be some peppy writers out there, right? I'm sure Shakespeare loosened up a bit and had some fun, even if it was only on Sundays. But sometimes, the most exquisite, intimate writing comes through bad experiences. Does that mean you have to have a terrible life, or be a cynic for the rest of eternity?
Absolutely not!
Anne Lamott, a fabulous memoir-writer had a terrible childhood. She dealt with death. She dealt with drugs. She dealt with so many family issues, that horribly strict parents seem like birthday cake topped with loads of icing. Yet this woman is hilarious--and she now leads a normal, peaceful life. She has allowed herself to distance herself from the pain and see her unfortunate past from a humorous perspective.
Same goes with David Sedaris. He was teased mercilessly in his youth, and had to deal with coming out back when it wasn't as widely accepted. His mode of writing, however, is both observant and will make you hem, haw, and LOL.
So it seems to be a prerequisite to have a rough patch--such as a bad romance, or a paparazzi who just won't leave you alone (thank you, Lady Gaga), but in order to create, you must detach yourself from these negative experiences and view them in a new light. Just as the Wordsworthian method of poetry is to express your emotions recollected in tranquility, the expression of prose may be to take a difficult situation that the artist is no longer in the midst of.
If you'll notice, my examples are mainly memoir writers. While memoirs are studied closely in creative writing class, they seem to be forgotten in literature classes. Is this genre hopeless when it comes to "classics"? Or is perhaps perceived more writing than reading?--meaning, do we read memoirs in order to learn how to write, rather than to be entertained/troubled/engaged?
'Cause that would be a whole lot of engagement rings. Heh...heh....
Second of all, I have to say that I quite agree with you. The 'tortured' artist is a stereotype for a reason. My theory about this idea is this: if great artists (pick your person here) were just "normal" people, living "normal" lives, what would make them great artists? What would make them special? I think that the most gifted people are also the most "abnormal", because they see the world in a certain way and perceive things in a way others do not. That is to say, if Van Gogh was a family man with a spaniel, do you think he would have been able to paint Starry Night?
I don't.
And, if he could, then, what would stop the other 99.9% of the population from painting like Van Gogh I guess what I'm trying to say is that, if Beethoven was a "normal" (I use this word liberally) person, he would do normal things. Writing the 9th symphony is not a normal thing. I think the reverse is also true. In order to create extraordinary things, you have to be something besides an ordinary person. You have to be sort of crazy to be gifted. Not crazy crazy, more like the Sheldon Cooper brand of psychosis. I would like to argue that the nature of being a talented person is being in possession of certain natural gifts that others do not have. Which, to me, means that talented people are intrinsically, genetically different. One can argue the definition of talented, but that's not really the point I'm trying to make. What I want to say is that, in order to be a truly great artist, you must have something that distinguishes you as a human being.
Whether or not this implies suffering is up to debate, but you are correct in saying that a lot of famous artists (painters, musicians, writers, etc.) seem to have live really depressing lives. Take Eric Clapton for instance (you know my proclivity to Eric Clapton; I think he's one of the best guitarist to have ever lived - right up there with Jimi Hendrix (also a tortured artist) and Jimmy Page), the Layla album, arguably his best work, came out of heart break and heroin abuse. It's the same thing with Francisco de Goya, in my opinion one of the best painters who has ever lived (after Klimt). The Black Paintings, The Third of May 1808, and The Second of May 1808, all came out of the incredibly dark period at the end of his life, by which time he had gone deaf and experienced the Peninsular wars. Sure, his earlier paintings are happier, but these are some of the most interesting, most fascinating paintings I have ever seen.
Of course, all of this raises the question I would like to ask you: is it possible for a great artist to be ever, truly happy? Is misery a pre-requisite to great work? And, if yes, how does this affect our reading of 'happy' works of literature?
Dear Maria,
So, as you know, I'm kind of a Pandora addict. I've discovered some of my favorite artists there, such as Foster the People, Florence and the Machine, and Lana Del Rey. Yet lately, I've had a love/hate relationship with the latter artist, especially after coming across this gem:
Now, I don't know about you, but a song that starts with "Elvis is my father, Marilyn's my mother, Jesus is my bestest friend," is bound to gain some attention. I'm not one to question song lyrics too often--I normally just hop around to a lively beat--but I couldn't help but pull an Alex Day here and analyze Lana Del Rey's song. So, I've come up with a little plot to help make sense of these words.
So Elvis and Marilyn Monroe decided to get nice and steamy one night, because as we are aware, Elvis loves 'dem hound dogs. Apparently he liked them older as well. But after their little bout of shinnanigans, a little Lana Del Rey was born. She grew up, ate Cheerios, and hung with her BFF Jesus, just like any little girl would. Jesus was quite the positive influence on little Lana, but his insight didn't quite get to Elvis and Marilyn, who decided it would be a fine time to go clubbing and thus, Lana explains, "We get down every Friday night, dancin’ and grindin’ in the pale moonlight." So there's Lana, Elvis and Marilyn, all gettin' wild in da club. Presumably, Jesus had to stay home that night, but that didn't stop word from getting out to Mary.
Well. That wreaked some havoc, now didn't it? But Mary, in typical non-violent fashion, did little to accuse Marilyn and Elvis of immoral behavior. She just simply prays the rosary for Lana's broken mind, because obviously, that's what a best friend's mother does. Lana's all "thanks but no thank," and continues to high tail it over to the club. She's all in the zone, claiming that her body is on fire and whatnot, and that she can be the next Walt Whitman, which is totally ridiculous since I didn't see Lana writing any Leaves of Grass.
The family clubbing goes well for a while, but Elvis' drug abuse really starts to take its toll on Marilyn. She uproots herself out of the family situation, and decides to go for Whitman instead, seeing as her daughter was already singing this dude's song. Lana was all "okay, guess I have a new Daddy now, woohooo." It probably didn't matter much, since Whitman could use all his book royalties on money on which Lana could sustain her partying lifestyle. Elvis, not too happy with this slap in the face, decided to marry Monaco. I have no idea who that is, so let's just say she's some faceless revenge wife, because really, who can top Walt Whitman?
Marilyn Monroe, that's who. Ooooh, burn.
So Mary, miraculously (and people say lightening doesn't strike twice!) is still in the loop, and she decides that Lana's rough lifestyle is just too terrible an influence for her son. So Mary forbids Jesus from chillin' with Lana, which hits Lana harder than we all expected, as she starts befriending inanimate objects such as diamonds. The girl really misses Jesus, but that doesn't make her want to prove to Mary that she can come clean. So, Lana keeps partying, and Mary keeps praying. I don't know what Jesus is doing, probably off doing something cool with fish, I don't know. But at this party, Lana meets this really hot guy named suicide, and they decide to go at it in some god-awful club bathroom. Lana, being all un-employed and whatnot, can't afford protection, so she gets preggers and suicide is all "not my fault, you should've known I destroy people." So Lana has this baby named Heaven, which, if you ask me, is kinda strange to name a baby, but this is post "Apple" and "Blanket" generation.
But just because Lana has this new life doesn't mean she's stopped missing Jesus. She still looks at those silly photos they took together, reminiscing about the times they had. It's the only reminder of youth she has. Here, Lana admits she is really in need of a washing machine because her clothes still smell like Jesus, who she hasn't run into in like, forever. Or maybe she's just soooo sentimental, which is just not practical for personal hygiene matters. Jesus' sudden abandonment does kinda hurt Lana, but she's not going to be the first to admit it, even if it was Mary being all overprotective and such.
But then Mary has this "aha" moment, where she realizes maybe she was being the party pooper after all, and that Jesus is this grown savior and all that. So why can't she have a little fun in da' club? Lana, jumping at the opportunity, get Suicide to watch her baby, and she and Mary get down and funky in the club, and everything is all fine and good.
Still don't know where Jesus is. Maybe he and Suicide are drinking some whiskey or something.
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