Behind the Scenes
relatability
how big an issue is relatability? what i mean is, when you are reading something, how much of your interest in it is the direct result of relation? i think it could be argued that relationships are what every book is about one way or another. this means all things relatable (ie, the relations between characters, the relations between reader and book, the relations between words and ideas, etc).
i started thinking about this because i read a comment from chris higgs about how he doesn’t like lorrie moore. the first thing i thought was “i agree” because usually when i read her work it just feels like a more professionally-written episode of “Friends.” but then i thought, maybe that doesn’t matter, that despite her characters inhabiting worlds i don’t, maybe there is a common thread anyway. i have this thought a lot when people talk about more acute areas of writing, like, “ethnic”, “gender” etc. the thought is that regardless of the obvious differences, there is always a larger idea that connects everyone. for instance, one of my favorite books is NATIVE SON. i am not african american, i didn’t grow up decades ago, and i am not as poor as the main character. however, i do work for people i resent, i do live on the south side of chicago, and i do seem to make decisions that ultimately deprive me of the ability to freely make other decisions. and for me, that was one of the main messages to me in Native Son, that freedom is extremely narrow (this is something relates to anyone regardless, although, granted, Bigger’s choices came to him as the object of racial hatred). then i read some of sean kilpatrick’s novel excerpts that blake linked. i am citing this because this is an example of relation that doesn’t rely on “real life” characteristics. i thought kilpatrick’s excerpts were fucking awesome. i related to them even though i am sure some people would aruge they are “meaningless” and “fail great literature.” there was something in the ideas and words he chose that made me feel related to them/him. i guess what i am getting at is, relation is the primary tenet for me when i am reading and liking or disliking something. i don’t think topic, reality, etc, make any difference. this thinking extends to things like “plot” and other such preliminaries. for instance, if someone describes a plot to me, it really has no consequence. it’s more about how that type of thing is dealt with, both conceptually and linguisitically. i guess this is an indirect response to things like “women writers”, “languagey writers” “ethnic writers” and other things like that. i think it is more liberating to find what is common in them rather than what is different because the common elements are much more important than the minor differences. please don’t hate me.
Tags: Lorrie Moore, relatability
This is a great issue to raise. For me it gets raised often.
When my students say, “I liked this story/character because I could RELATE,” I always try to press– how did you relate, where did you relate, why did you relate– and at the bottom it usually seems that what they mean is that they FELT.
If writing makes you feel, you relate. When you relate, you feel. Maybe RELATE and FEEL are synonymous?
Feeling/relating being the (as you’ve said) primary tenet for liking and disliking.
(An exception, I guess, would be outright disgust/intense boredom with a work– but maybe that’s just relating/feeling from outside the work, rather than from within the work?)
This is a great issue to raise. For me it gets raised often.
When my students say, “I liked this story/character because I could RELATE,” I always try to press– how did you relate, where did you relate, why did you relate– and at the bottom it usually seems that what they mean is that they FELT.
If writing makes you feel, you relate. When you relate, you feel. Maybe RELATE and FEEL are synonymous?
Feeling/relating being the (as you’ve said) primary tenet for liking and disliking.
(An exception, I guess, would be outright disgust/intense boredom with a work– but maybe that’s just relating/feeling from outside the work, rather than from within the work?)
Nobody hates you for speaking your mind.
And yes, establishing a relation with a book and its characters on a very deep level makes for the most intense and unique reading experience, no matter whether all the topics raised relate to you directly or not.
The most beautiful description of how such a deep relation between reader and book is established can be found in the book I’m currently reading, Lloyd Jones’s Mister Pip. Matilda, the 12-year-old protagonist living in civil-war-ridden Bougainville, has nothing in common with Dickens’s Pip – the time, setting and most of the topics couldn’t be more alien to her – and yet she establishes a very deep relation to this fictional character. She describes it like this:
“As we progressed through the book something happened to me. At some point I felt myself enter the story. I hadn’t been assigned a part – nothing like that; I wasn’t identifiable on the page, but I was there, I was definitely there.”
And a bit later:
“For several days after the reading of Great Expectations our class felt flat. There was nothing to look forward to anymore. The story was at and end. So was our journeying into that world. We were back to our own. Without any prospect of escape, our days lost their purpose.”
Blessed be he who is lucky enough to have such a powerful reading experience.
I think Ken is experiencing something similar at the moment while reading Finnegans Wake.
Nobody hates you for speaking your mind.
And yes, establishing a relation with a book and its characters on a very deep level makes for the most intense and unique reading experience, no matter whether all the topics raised relate to you directly or not.
The most beautiful description of how such a deep relation between reader and book is established can be found in the book I’m currently reading, Lloyd Jones’s Mister Pip. Matilda, the 12-year-old protagonist living in civil-war-ridden Bougainville, has nothing in common with Dickens’s Pip – the time, setting and most of the topics couldn’t be more alien to her – and yet she establishes a very deep relation to this fictional character. She describes it like this:
“As we progressed through the book something happened to me. At some point I felt myself enter the story. I hadn’t been assigned a part – nothing like that; I wasn’t identifiable on the page, but I was there, I was definitely there.”
And a bit later:
“For several days after the reading of Great Expectations our class felt flat. There was nothing to look forward to anymore. The story was at and end. So was our journeying into that world. We were back to our own. Without any prospect of escape, our days lost their purpose.”
Blessed be he who is lucky enough to have such a powerful reading experience.
I think Ken is experiencing something similar at the moment while reading Finnegans Wake.
yes. mister pip is a great novel. and i think this idea of relatability you describe here is central to its greatness; it comes up in so many different ways. and the irony of such deep relatabilty being developed against the backdrop of the civil war is really heartbreaking. good book. i don’t think it got too much attention here in the us, though.
yes. mister pip is a great novel. and i think this idea of relatability you describe here is central to its greatness; it comes up in so many different ways. and the irony of such deep relatabilty being developed against the backdrop of the civil war is really heartbreaking. good book. i don’t think it got too much attention here in the us, though.
i am now trying to think of examples of when i related to somethign wholly. one moment that always comes back to me is a line in daniel bailey’s EAST CENTRAL INDIANA where he goes, “maybe silent hurting is the new midwest love” or something similar. boom.
i am now trying to think of examples of when i related to somethign wholly. one moment that always comes back to me is a line in daniel bailey’s EAST CENTRAL INDIANA where he goes, “maybe silent hurting is the new midwest love” or something similar. boom.
Neither did it in Germany. I bought it in the English book shop in Cannes, of all places, whose nice and very knowledgeable owner recommended it to me, promising a unique reading experience. Right he was! Thanks, Wally Storer!
Neither did it in Germany. I bought it in the English book shop in Cannes, of all places, whose nice and very knowledgeable owner recommended it to me, promising a unique reading experience. Right he was! Thanks, Wally Storer!
I like empathy a lot.
I don’t know if I understand for sure what ‘relatability’ really means, and I want to make sure I don’t make assumptions about how you’re using it.
I think when some people use it (and maybe also, that term ‘sympathetic’), they use it in this really reductive way, as tho whatever they’re reading should directly, literally resemble their experience, which is not a perspective I much care for.
I like empathy a lot.
I don’t know if I understand for sure what ‘relatability’ really means, and I want to make sure I don’t make assumptions about how you’re using it.
I think when some people use it (and maybe also, that term ‘sympathetic’), they use it in this really reductive way, as tho whatever they’re reading should directly, literally resemble their experience, which is not a perspective I much care for.
the way that i am thinking about it is in terms of one person applying the combined interaction of him/herself with something (s) else and how that interaction creates something for the individual reading the work.
the way that i am thinking about it is in terms of one person applying the combined interaction of him/herself with something (s) else and how that interaction creates something for the individual reading the work.
i think liking a book because it’s “relatable” is a totally moot point. i’m not saying that you shouldn’t like something because you relate to it, but in terms of “critical thought” i think it should be left out, because it doesn’t allow the work of art to exist autonomously. of course, i mean there’s a difference between writing about/thinking about how “you” experience the book, and what it did to “you” personally (a sort of subjective review, i think), but how “you” related to a book is not going to do anything to get “me” thinking about it.
i think liking a book because it’s “relatable” is a totally moot point. i’m not saying that you shouldn’t like something because you relate to it, but in terms of “critical thought” i think it should be left out, because it doesn’t allow the work of art to exist autonomously. of course, i mean there’s a difference between writing about/thinking about how “you” experience the book, and what it did to “you” personally (a sort of subjective review, i think), but how “you” related to a book is not going to do anything to get “me” thinking about it.
also, if we rely on “relatability” as a quality of “goodness” when thinking/talking about literature, it can quickly become pretty exclusive (or whatever) and we get stuck in a sort of snobbish circle.
also, if we rely on “relatability” as a quality of “goodness” when thinking/talking about literature, it can quickly become pretty exclusive (or whatever) and we get stuck in a sort of snobbish circle.
I defy you, sir, to produce conclusive evidence to support your bold claim that relatability and snobbery are interrelated.
I hear what you’re saying and I definitely think that as a writer and a reader, finding those commnonalities rather than focusing on difference is important. The writing I enjoy most is generally those stories to which I can relate, even in some small way, regardless of the subject matter.
However.
There’s a reason why the designations of women writers and ethnic writers, etc.exist. Oftentimes, in the traditional canon, people who are women or transgendered, or not white, or differently abled, find nothing to which they can relate and that’s a lonely thing. Is this changing? Yes. But that change comes slowly.
The power of Native Son is that it is a story that speaks to universal themes. However, the power of Native Son is also that for many black people, Richard Wright voiced frustrations that black people had not yet, to that point, been able to articulate or find articulated in literature. In that, the differences are very important.
I defy you, sir, to produce conclusive evidence to support your bold claim that relatability and snobbery are interrelated.
I hear what you’re saying and I definitely think that as a writer and a reader, finding those commnonalities rather than focusing on difference is important. The writing I enjoy most is generally those stories to which I can relate, even in some small way, regardless of the subject matter.
However.
There’s a reason why the designations of women writers and ethnic writers, etc.exist. Oftentimes, in the traditional canon, people who are women or transgendered, or not white, or differently abled, find nothing to which they can relate and that’s a lonely thing. Is this changing? Yes. But that change comes slowly.
The power of Native Son is that it is a story that speaks to universal themes. However, the power of Native Son is also that for many black people, Richard Wright voiced frustrations that black people had not yet, to that point, been able to articulate or find articulated in literature. In that, the differences are very important.
That is basically ’empathy,’ yeah? We empathise with that with which we relate? I’m going to answer the question on that basis, and hope I’m not a million miles off what you mean.
Separately, the idea Joseph raised about if ‘relate’ and ‘feel’ are necessarily synonymous? I don’t think they are, though they may often be used in that way.
Lots of thing cause me to ‘feel,’ have an emotional reaction.
However, it helps if I can relate to them. It’s more likely to engage me, and it might hit me at a more gut level, which, particularly if I’m reading, I find can be a good thing. But ‘relating’ is not a prerequisite to ‘feeling.’
They cross over, but I don’t think they should be interchangeable terms.
As to the question itself, well, I guess that was partly my answer, and I’m prob going to reiterate a lot now. I reckon, somehow, being able to relate to what one’s reading is key, and merely feeling isn’t quite enough, but I could be wrong.
My knee-jerk reaction would be that the writing which we are most likely to be drawn to in some way mirrors either our experiences or patterns of thinking, or whatever else – but there needs to be that point of connectivity.
First, I like to actually react to what I’m reading. Ideally not just a reaction for the sake of it. (Like ‘Christ this is flat.’ Or ‘this is really shallow.’ Or whatever.) I’m quite big on writing that isn’t necessarily entirely comfortable to read. That in itself probably isn’t that hard to do. But I think, (and uncomfortable writing’s just an example) actually drawing the reader into the situation enough for that reaction to be deep-seated is the interesting part. I like writing that shakes me up a little, maybe makes me question or re-form my perspective. In order to do that in the first place, it helps if it hits my original, default perspective on some level. Because then you are likely to have a more visceral reaction, and in my world, I’d rather always one of those,. than just a surface reaction.
I don’t think a piece of writing needs to be written by someone of my gender, ethnicity, or whatever else to accomplish those things in terms of how I react to it. (And by that I literally mean just: me. I’m talking about my own experience, not anybody else’s.)
Sometimes, sure, those similarities can be good bridges into work in terms of shared experience. But not always.
That is basically ’empathy,’ yeah? We empathise with that with which we relate? I’m going to answer the question on that basis, and hope I’m not a million miles off what you mean.
Separately, the idea Joseph raised about if ‘relate’ and ‘feel’ are necessarily synonymous? I don’t think they are, though they may often be used in that way.
Lots of thing cause me to ‘feel,’ have an emotional reaction.
However, it helps if I can relate to them. It’s more likely to engage me, and it might hit me at a more gut level, which, particularly if I’m reading, I find can be a good thing. But ‘relating’ is not a prerequisite to ‘feeling.’
They cross over, but I don’t think they should be interchangeable terms.
As to the question itself, well, I guess that was partly my answer, and I’m prob going to reiterate a lot now. I reckon, somehow, being able to relate to what one’s reading is key, and merely feeling isn’t quite enough, but I could be wrong.
My knee-jerk reaction would be that the writing which we are most likely to be drawn to in some way mirrors either our experiences or patterns of thinking, or whatever else – but there needs to be that point of connectivity.
First, I like to actually react to what I’m reading. Ideally not just a reaction for the sake of it. (Like ‘Christ this is flat.’ Or ‘this is really shallow.’ Or whatever.) I’m quite big on writing that isn’t necessarily entirely comfortable to read. That in itself probably isn’t that hard to do. But I think, (and uncomfortable writing’s just an example) actually drawing the reader into the situation enough for that reaction to be deep-seated is the interesting part. I like writing that shakes me up a little, maybe makes me question or re-form my perspective. In order to do that in the first place, it helps if it hits my original, default perspective on some level. Because then you are likely to have a more visceral reaction, and in my world, I’d rather always one of those,. than just a surface reaction.
I don’t think a piece of writing needs to be written by someone of my gender, ethnicity, or whatever else to accomplish those things in terms of how I react to it. (And by that I literally mean just: me. I’m talking about my own experience, not anybody else’s.)
Sometimes, sure, those similarities can be good bridges into work in terms of shared experience. But not always.
this vending machine is a lie
this vending machine is a lie
Great writers express collective human themes in ways that are ‘moving’ and ‘poetic’ or ‘literate’ or ‘beautiful’.
Individuals, however, have differing criteria for what is ‘beautiful’, ‘poetic’, etc.
So I think the common thread in ‘good’ writing is ‘expression of human themes’ and ‘variety is the spice of life’ or ‘vive la difference’ aspects means different readers relate to different works. That is, it’s partly a matter of ‘taste’ or ‘sensibility’, how the ‘human theme’ is expressed.
And Sam Pink: Hang tough. Speak your convictions. ‘There are no dumb questions’. etc
I liked this post.
Great writers express collective human themes in ways that are ‘moving’ and ‘poetic’ or ‘literate’ or ‘beautiful’.
Individuals, however, have differing criteria for what is ‘beautiful’, ‘poetic’, etc.
So I think the common thread in ‘good’ writing is ‘expression of human themes’ and ‘variety is the spice of life’ or ‘vive la difference’ aspects means different readers relate to different works. That is, it’s partly a matter of ‘taste’ or ‘sensibility’, how the ‘human theme’ is expressed.
And Sam Pink: Hang tough. Speak your convictions. ‘There are no dumb questions’. etc
I liked this post.
I’ve got to agree with Mike, above. Relatability (Damn you, squiggly red spellcheck line!!) places too much importance on subjectivity and a false shared experience between that reader and the character (who doesn’t know you exist, BTW) readers are supposed to relate to. It’s like a false positive: certainly in a book composed of words familiar to us which represent images/ideas/objects/etc. we’re familiar with is going to be relatable. But seeking relatability above all else represents a turning inward from the “practical” applications good books possess, the inability to project or transcend one’s smallness to see a larger network (of people, words, ideas, same feelings, aversion to terrible wedding photos, etc). By “practical” here I mean the characteristic/quality that makes something good to each reader (and here’s where the subjectivity DOES come into play) of assimilation of well-placed words into your brain in a way that something of worth is not only perceived, but present. Your brainmap comes out different.
Buuuuurp.
I’ve got to agree with Mike, above. Relatability (Damn you, squiggly red spellcheck line!!) places too much importance on subjectivity and a false shared experience between that reader and the character (who doesn’t know you exist, BTW) readers are supposed to relate to. It’s like a false positive: certainly in a book composed of words familiar to us which represent images/ideas/objects/etc. we’re familiar with is going to be relatable. But seeking relatability above all else represents a turning inward from the “practical” applications good books possess, the inability to project or transcend one’s smallness to see a larger network (of people, words, ideas, same feelings, aversion to terrible wedding photos, etc). By “practical” here I mean the characteristic/quality that makes something good to each reader (and here’s where the subjectivity DOES come into play) of assimilation of well-placed words into your brain in a way that something of worth is not only perceived, but present. Your brainmap comes out different.
Buuuuurp.
that’s an amazing line. daniel bailey knows his shit.
that’s an amazing line. daniel bailey knows his shit.
perhaps “snobbish circle” is the wrong term. but if 50 young straight middle-class white male authors are writing books specifically for young straight middle-class white males (I think, maybe, that this is pretty much what Wes Anderson is doing in film, as an aside) and those 50 young straight middle-class white male authors eventually become the dominant “writers” of a generation, or area, (or the hegemony), then it’s going to be pretty exclusionary.
perhaps “snobbish circle” is the wrong term. but if 50 young straight middle-class white male authors are writing books specifically for young straight middle-class white males (I think, maybe, that this is pretty much what Wes Anderson is doing in film, as an aside) and those 50 young straight middle-class white male authors eventually become the dominant “writers” of a generation, or area, (or the hegemony), then it’s going to be pretty exclusionary.
and what my point is, is that if “relatability” becomes a standard for a reader to choose a certain book, then those young straight middle-class white males will continue to only read the books by young straight middle-class white males & further enforcing the hegemony of the lit world & then there would be even less womens/gay/black/asian/transgendered/poor/geriatric literature available, and by “available” i mean getting published, making money, actually “accessible” (in terms of availability) to a point where it can affect change.
and what my point is, is that if “relatability” becomes a standard for a reader to choose a certain book, then those young straight middle-class white males will continue to only read the books by young straight middle-class white males & further enforcing the hegemony of the lit world & then there would be even less womens/gay/black/asian/transgendered/poor/geriatric literature available, and by “available” i mean getting published, making money, actually “accessible” (in terms of availability) to a point where it can affect change.
yes. man…
yes. man…
mike, the post talks about how NATIVE SON, a book written by what you call a “black” man, relates to me, what you call a “white” man.
mike, the post talks about how NATIVE SON, a book written by what you call a “black” man, relates to me, what you call a “white” man.
yeah, i’m speaking more in general of why holding relatability as a primary justification for the quality of a book is a bad thing. as another poster said, native son transcends it’s “blackness” and addresses the universal. but is it really only a “great book” because you can “relate to it”?
i mean, i champion experimental/non-mimetic writing (which is, I suppose, inherently “non-relatable”) above all else so feel free to take whatever i’m saying with a grain of salt. i am responding mostly to the question that opens the post: “how big an issue is relatability.” my response is: “not big at all, and here’s why.”
i have to admit that, probably, the reason that i have as strong of an opinion as i do is that– as i said, championing non-mimetic writing –i feel like the primary reason that i have been given regarding why something is “bad” seems to derive from the opinion that “you have to relate to a book to like it.”
it’s also incredibly irritating in workshops, particularly beginning workshops, when students offer criticism of a work by simply saying either, “I couldn’t really relate to this, so I didn’t know how to address it,” or even “at first I was caught off guard by the subject matter, but then i really started to relate to how you [did whatever], and then i really liked this.” i’m all for championing humanism, but if something as subjective as relatability is the only way we can achieve humanism, that sort of becomes the bad form of socialism/communism, where every artwork made has to fit itself into this “Universal”/for-the-people mold for it to exist in public. i mean, really, if we are looking for “commonalities” instead of “differences” to establish writing (and as Hal Hartley pointed out, “meaning is differential”) then we are assimilating writing instead of appreciating the differences that can be found.
the formation of my thoughts on this relate directly to my “radical” homosexuality: i think the sentiment of heterosexuals saying “oh don’t worry homosexuals are just like us” actually feeds into a self-hatred/denial-of-self where a heterosexual feels like their sexuality has to remain private so they can be “non-offensive” and “accepted” to a hegemonic norm. i could go further into this, but it seems a bit off point, and perhaps just contextualizes where i’m coming from.
yeah, i’m speaking more in general of why holding relatability as a primary justification for the quality of a book is a bad thing. as another poster said, native son transcends it’s “blackness” and addresses the universal. but is it really only a “great book” because you can “relate to it”?
i mean, i champion experimental/non-mimetic writing (which is, I suppose, inherently “non-relatable”) above all else so feel free to take whatever i’m saying with a grain of salt. i am responding mostly to the question that opens the post: “how big an issue is relatability.” my response is: “not big at all, and here’s why.”
i have to admit that, probably, the reason that i have as strong of an opinion as i do is that– as i said, championing non-mimetic writing –i feel like the primary reason that i have been given regarding why something is “bad” seems to derive from the opinion that “you have to relate to a book to like it.”
it’s also incredibly irritating in workshops, particularly beginning workshops, when students offer criticism of a work by simply saying either, “I couldn’t really relate to this, so I didn’t know how to address it,” or even “at first I was caught off guard by the subject matter, but then i really started to relate to how you [did whatever], and then i really liked this.” i’m all for championing humanism, but if something as subjective as relatability is the only way we can achieve humanism, that sort of becomes the bad form of socialism/communism, where every artwork made has to fit itself into this “Universal”/for-the-people mold for it to exist in public. i mean, really, if we are looking for “commonalities” instead of “differences” to establish writing (and as Hal Hartley pointed out, “meaning is differential”) then we are assimilating writing instead of appreciating the differences that can be found.
the formation of my thoughts on this relate directly to my “radical” homosexuality: i think the sentiment of heterosexuals saying “oh don’t worry homosexuals are just like us” actually feeds into a self-hatred/denial-of-self where a heterosexual feels like their sexuality has to remain private so they can be “non-offensive” and “accepted” to a hegemonic norm. i could go further into this, but it seems a bit off point, and perhaps just contextualizes where i’m coming from.
in the final paragraph that should, of course say, “where a homosexual feels like their sexuality has to remain private…”
in the final paragraph that should, of course say, “where a homosexual feels like their sexuality has to remain private…”
I know the term ‘experimental writing’ is a pretty giant umbrella one, but the writing I like best (to read, I mean. To write, sometimes, when it works) tends to self-identify as or get labelled ‘experimental.’
I don’t think it’s necessarily ‘inherently non-relatable’ in the slightest. Rather, it might appear to be, and that’s something entirely different.
There has to be some point of interest in the first place – and I’d maintain that point of interest often (not always) arises from something that feels familiar in the first place — no matter how experimental the form.
It’s a little like slants people sometimes throw on absurdism or surrealism as *actually* being meaningless. When, as far as I’m concerned, it shouldn’t be, or at least isn’t always. Just a different language of meaning. So a different language of relatability can follow that.
I know the term ‘experimental writing’ is a pretty giant umbrella one, but the writing I like best (to read, I mean. To write, sometimes, when it works) tends to self-identify as or get labelled ‘experimental.’
I don’t think it’s necessarily ‘inherently non-relatable’ in the slightest. Rather, it might appear to be, and that’s something entirely different.
There has to be some point of interest in the first place – and I’d maintain that point of interest often (not always) arises from something that feels familiar in the first place — no matter how experimental the form.
It’s a little like slants people sometimes throw on absurdism or surrealism as *actually* being meaningless. When, as far as I’m concerned, it shouldn’t be, or at least isn’t always. Just a different language of meaning. So a different language of relatability can follow that.
oh i certainly don’t think art is meaningless. i value it more than probably anything else ever. i don’t understand placing an equal sign between relatable and interesting, or relatable and valuable. i am understanding “relatability” as “empathy,” and that is where all of my points are coming from. i certainly don’t feel “empathetic” to language or forms, but i certainly enjoy and value them. and being “against empathy” is just my classical anti-bourgeois notion of not insisting on finding the “self” in a work of art (maybe this is more of an art-historical notion, who knows).
oh i certainly don’t think art is meaningless. i value it more than probably anything else ever. i don’t understand placing an equal sign between relatable and interesting, or relatable and valuable. i am understanding “relatability” as “empathy,” and that is where all of my points are coming from. i certainly don’t feel “empathetic” to language or forms, but i certainly enjoy and value them. and being “against empathy” is just my classical anti-bourgeois notion of not insisting on finding the “self” in a work of art (maybe this is more of an art-historical notion, who knows).
okay, let’s try this again (i come to a point through dialogue… that’s how i work).
by “empathy,” i mean a sort of selfish sense of reading where one is intentionally looking for a way to make the story “about” his or herself, which I feel closes out the reading from actually “revealing” the other
okay, let’s try this again (i come to a point through dialogue… that’s how i work).
by “empathy,” i mean a sort of selfish sense of reading where one is intentionally looking for a way to make the story “about” his or herself, which I feel closes out the reading from actually “revealing” the other
I understand “empathy” to mean understanding and being sensitive to someone else’s point of view or experiences. The opposite of selfishness, yeah?
I understand “empathy” to mean understanding and being sensitive to someone else’s point of view or experiences. The opposite of selfishness, yeah?
okay, i get the points you’re making.
that particular point of view you mention (of coming into writing. or art of whatever sort, for that matter) and needing to find one’s self within it? i think honestly there’s such a narrowness/self-centeredness about that that it’s going to preclude being open to much diversity of writing anyway.
interesting because the problem you mentioned with any idea of there needing to be a ‘universal’ quality to a given piece of writing? would again dictate that kind of narrowness.
each way would place limits on upon either a given reading, or the writing of a text.
so. yeah. i guess ’empathy’ within reading has its limits.
but i also suspect a lot of this comes down to the interpretation of ’empathy.’
okay, i get the points you’re making.
that particular point of view you mention (of coming into writing. or art of whatever sort, for that matter) and needing to find one’s self within it? i think honestly there’s such a narrowness/self-centeredness about that that it’s going to preclude being open to much diversity of writing anyway.
interesting because the problem you mentioned with any idea of there needing to be a ‘universal’ quality to a given piece of writing? would again dictate that kind of narrowness.
each way would place limits on upon either a given reading, or the writing of a text.
so. yeah. i guess ’empathy’ within reading has its limits.
but i also suspect a lot of this comes down to the interpretation of ’empathy.’
How about a relationship with a book being like a relationship with a significant other…i.e. we are drawn to a certain balance of identity and otherness, often in dynamic proportion rather than steady-state. The book draws us in, we make demands on it, it makes demands on us. We make compromises and at times are amply rewarded when our expectations are exceeded. And yes, your brain map/chemistry is altered, as it is profoundly in new lovers, and differently still in long-term relationships, that book you reread over the years.
How about a relationship with a book being like a relationship with a significant other…i.e. we are drawn to a certain balance of identity and otherness, often in dynamic proportion rather than steady-state. The book draws us in, we make demands on it, it makes demands on us. We make compromises and at times are amply rewarded when our expectations are exceeded. And yes, your brain map/chemistry is altered, as it is profoundly in new lovers, and differently still in long-term relationships, that book you reread over the years.