Writers have that touch of Life, the Universe and
Everything about then, as they push the fuzzy boundaries of their academic discipline or auto didact assertions to cosmic proportions.
Writers too often appear to be thinking relaxedly out loud, with a touch too much assurance, especially those who are doggedly encyclopedic, in their bubble they are assured that there is no one around to shut them up.
Writers do not on the whole take kindly to theorists, rather as shamans do not always look with favour on anthropologists. A lot of poets and novelists are natural-born romantics about their own art, if sometimes about little else. Even the grittiest realist can turn out to be a closet transcendentalist when it comes to his or her own psyche; and writers like that are affronted by the claim that the fruits of their inspiration can be rationally analysed.
Each requires a certain
suspension of disbelief, and each links the most intense inwardness to the most
unabashedly cosmic of questions.
Writers too often appear to be thinking relaxedly out loud, with a touch too much assurance, especially those who are doggedly encyclopedic, in their bubble they are assured that there is no one around to shut them up.
Writers do not on the whole take kindly to theorists, rather as shamans do not always look with favour on anthropologists. A lot of poets and novelists are natural-born romantics about their own art, if sometimes about little else. Even the grittiest realist can turn out to be a closet transcendentalist when it comes to his or her own psyche; and writers like that are affronted by the claim that the fruits of their inspiration can be rationally analysed.
No comments:
Post a Comment