This post is a guest blog from author Richard Chiappone, whose most recent book is a collection of short stories, Uncommon Weather, now available for preorder from University of Alaska Press.
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| Richard Chiappone |
“The person, be it gentleman or a lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel must be intolerably stupid.” —Jane Austen
I agree with Jane Austen that novels (or in my case, more often short stories) can bring great pleasure. But being neither a lady, nor much of a gentleman, and having no fear of being called intolerably stupid (I’ve heard it said!), I can report that—for me as a writer—great books can bring me great pleasure, but also propel me into fits of despair at the thought of ever writing another word myself.
I think that after thirty years, I understand now that I write fiction to find out what’s important to me, what I value. I do that by putting fictitious characters in fictitious situations that cause them to act and reveal something about themselves in the process. What that reveals, I’m finding more and more, is that these characters are almost always—like real people—in need of something they don't yet have, or they are trying to hang onto something they fear they might lose.
One quote I like a lot is: “A man is what he desires…” which was said by the Theosophist Annie Besant. (Note: Theosophy is not the study of guys named Theodore.) And what do humans desire? They want to be treated decently, they want to be respected, and with luck maybe even loved. The want companionship. They want loyalty from their friends and families. Simply put, they want to be wanted. (I know that sounds like a Peter Frampton song.) And what I’ve learned about myself is that I care for my characters and hope they get what they want, and I’m a little sad when things don't work out for them. I think that’s called empathy.
But I don't write just to prove that again and again by producing scenarios that confirm my own theories. I also write to see how that empathy can be generated by nothing more than words on a page. I’m astounded by the miracle when it occurs. Because, more than anyone, I know intellectually that my people don't exist and never have. What interests me is the challenge of making myself—and hopefully my readers—come to actually care about them, in spite of that.
And that’s how I read now. I read looking for clues about how other writers convince their readers (and me) to care about fictitious people. What makes us weep for self-destructive Emma Bovary or exult in the pluckiness of young Jane Eyre or Huck Finn? And I read books to steal everything I can from them.
That results in two things:
1) I avoid books that are not character driven, even great authors who are more interested in form or language than in their own characters. I studied experimental writers when I was a student—Donald Barthelme, John Barth, William Gass, Robert Coover, and others—and I still admire their spectacular accomplishment. But I’m just not interested in writing those kinds of stories (nor smart enough to do them well). And, of course, I don't read plot-driven books that reveal little or nothing about the inner life of their characters.
2) Basically, I just don't read fictions for pleasure anymore. In fact, I don't actually read fiction; I study fictions.
I don't read for pleasure anymore because I’m almost always aware of the writer behind the words on the page. If the writing is good and the characters are interesting, I may suspend disbelief and get caught up in the story at times, but only briefly. Then some word or some structural choice or narrative strategy catches my eye, and I’m thinking about how effective it is or isn’t. It’s a curse. I can never be truly entertained by books. I treat them like objects to learn from. For that reason, I can't read badly written books. I believe that you’ll never write books any better than the last book you read. Which is why I avoid books I wouldn’t want to put my name on. It’s like trying to eat food I’d be embarrassed to serve to guests.
Unfortunately, there are no guarantees that reading great books will make a reader into a great writer. If that were true, every William Faulkner, Toni Morrison, or Alice Munro scholar would be a Nobel Prize-winning author. But it will make each of us the most empathetic writer we can be. And I guess, in the end, that’s what’s really important to me.
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