U-G-L-Y, that Story You've Got there is Really Fly

Dear Maria Cristina,
I've heard this rumor floating around that humans desire closeness. While I myself must have failed to receive that gene, it is an everyday trait in many of us (silly humans!) have. So when we finally come across a concept we can relate to, we automatically cling to the perceive that introduced that concept. To have the revelation that "ohmigosh someone finally understands me!" is a relieving one, and it can be difficult to separate the notion from the person. I mean, not every author necessarily agrees with what he's saying. Did Thoreau really believe that eating children would be a modest proposal? Did Alex Day really fall in love with a ghost? Does John Green believe that pain demands to be felt? Last I checked, pain didn't walk up to me and go all "I demand you feel me!" because that would be wildly inappropriate.

In our tendencies to be attached to something, we ultimately become attached to the face we associate with that thing. It's natural, in our society, to say something innocent like "I really like dialogue," only to proceed to hear the 5 most horrible words a person could hear: "oh so you like Hemmingway?"

Yeah. Because I like conversational books, it's totally logical to assume I enjoy watching two depressing lovers battle out an abortion battle.

So anyway. I think we should detach our book/author associations, but that could just be the formalist in me talking.

Ironically, however, I have been noticing a pattern amongst artists in general. It all started at an extra credit assignment, as things tend to start at. First off, I'd just like to point out that I was in a room filled with grad students.

Grad students. There I was, the little freshman, around people who threw around Nietzsche references like they were no problem and used "ostentatious" and "perfunctory" in casual sentences. I basically felt like this:

During this discussion with the scary smart people, we examined the idea of the influence Eastern philosophy had on Beethoven's music. Apparently the Bhagavad Gita taught Beethoven to accept things as they are. To prove this point, the professor brought along a string quartet to play Beethoven's works. They were all very talented and the sounds were quite beautiful. Yet I noticed something: The more beautiful and intense the music got, the more the musicians convulsed and twitched and made unpleasant expressions. By the time it got to the really dramatic sections, they were practically thrashing their violins around. I was afraid they'd start falling off their chairs and flying cellos would start invading campus.

But this "ugly creator" trend also occurs in writing. While there aren't exactly "writing performances," I know I furrow my brow in a not so attractive way while I'm lost in thought, and my hair goes all "woohoo" on me when I'm writing. But it's not so much physical disfiguration that makes for beautiful writing: it's mental disfiguration.
Now, I'm not saying that if we all became schizophrenics we'd all be fantastic writers, but the "tortured author" deal is actually legit. It helps to come from an unpleasant background in order to perceive things that a blissed out kid might totally miss. For one thing, people who talk about having a rough childhood talk about living in books and being isolated. Isolation is the only time we can truly be introspective and think about the world. Plus, alcoholic fathers or mothers who work too much makes for great writing material.

Even in comedy, it takes knowing the other side to truly reach people's triggers in stand-up routines. Robin Williams had a terrible history with drugs, yet his routines give us escape. Eddie Izzard got rejected from the army and beaten up because of his sexuality. Yet he took that opportunity to turn his tumultuous experiences into comedy:

This pattern has lasted centuries. The most widely noted "classical" authors are also some of the most tortured. Edith Wharton had some pretty screwed up marriage issues, but through that turmoil she created Ethan Frome, one of the most beautiful, heart wrenching novels. You have to be aware of pain to transcend it onto a page.

So is there a reason the most pained artists are the most world renowned? It certainly helps to have the whole "brooding, tortured artist" look going on, but is it absolutely necessary? I know plenty of good authors who didn't live in a box during their childhood. Would they have been "great" if they'd gotten less fluff during their teen years? What even is great?

I'm all for having a nice life, but what if it's at the expense of ever achieving literary greatness?

Peace and Ponies,
Kira