Bad literary education

The narrator sits with her daughter.

“After a few failed attempts at drawing something, she asks me to make four squares for her—two at the top, two at the bottom—and instructs me to label them in this order: ‘Character’, ‘Setting’, ‘Problem’, ‘Solution’. When I finish labelling the four squares and ask what they’re for, she explains that at school, they taught her to tell stories this way. Bad literary education begins too early and continues for way too long” (Valeria Luiselli, Lost children archive, 2020, p61).

More on the artist-intermediary tension

(Previously: On category obsession disorder)

Further to my thoughts on the potential or real influence of intermediaries on an artist’s work…

According to Tom Keymer (2020), we might never have heard of Jane Austen, her novels never published at all, “had she not met the market halfway” (Jane Austen: writing, society, politics).

I find this a little disturbing (although I'd want a bit more specificity around the term 'halfway'). It seems to suggest that Austen's exquisite precision of language was shaped to a significant degree by market forces. Really?

Artist envy

A note about occasionally feeling envious of other artists. Not of those whose work might be of similar intention, as for example Salieri’s no-doubt-exaggerated relationship to Mozart — I mean here, envy of practitioners working in different media. This is about practical differences.

First, envy of visual artists who always have something to draw or paint. David Hockney has made this point a few times: he can get up in the morning, look around, and see something to draw, wherever he happens to be. As a writer, I’m completely unable to get up and just write about whatever happens to be there, or what comes into my head. Against that, I note that when my sight goes, I should still be able to create texts, whereas a visual artist is going to struggle rather more.

Secondly, envy of musicians, especially composers, for being able to get away with repetition or duplication. It’s totally excusable (although sometimes abused, in my view) because performed music only exists in irreversible time. With the written word you usually have the option to go back. I’m also envious that music is a medium in which improvisation can be an art form itself, because it’s a performance art.

There’s much to be said for reflecting on these differences and constraints, exploring them and seeking to learn from them. In a couple of pieces I’ve experimented with what I would call varied perspectives (think cubist writing) and in others with the use of repetition. And when I find myself in a certain temperament, I will always allow the impulse to improvise (in the privacy of my own desk, of course, and the results have then to be honed, sensitively).