When Interpretation of the Arts Wanders Off Track

 

I was recently enjoying a Bishop Barron interview with Ethan and Maya Hawke concerning their new movie, Wildcat.  Their film concerns the life and influence of Flannery O'Connor, one of my favorite authors.  While the first half hour was quite good, my ears perked when Maya began interpreting Flannery O'Connor's stories beyond a reasonable threshold.  It boils down to a debate concerning the intrinsic, objective value of art versus a more subjective rendering, and it's often discussed in university English Lit or art courses in one way or another.

For instance, one of my favorite artists is Caravaggio.  I have been fortunate to see several of his outstanding works in Italy, and I have always been captivated by how he paints light and conveys darkness.  While I love his paintings, Andrew Graham-Dixon's book, A Life Sacred and Profane, is right when it describes his life resembling his paintings as "a series of lightning flashes in the darkest of night."  He did not lead a life most would consider good, but instead brought hardship upon himself through his own crimes.  Still, we don't need to filter the paintings through the artist's life.  The art stands on its own.  It can be said that quality literary or visual art has its own life, separate and distinct from its creator.  The people who blacklist artists for failing to walk the line of political correctness, for instance, are oblivious to this subtlety or distinction.  Unfortunately, many in education circles seem intent on viewing art through a lens of psychology, symbolism, or sociology, which is their own creation alone.

This particularly struck me in the latter half of the interview I mentioned earlier. I am reading the letters of Tolkien and Flannery O'Connor, and this distaste for this manner of interpretation is prevalent throughout their letters, as well as those of C.S. Lewis. Here is how Flannery O'Connor puts it in a letter to a misguided teacher.

The interpretation of your ninety students and three teachers is fantastic and about as far from my intentions as it could get to be. If it were a legitimate interpretation, the story would be little more than a trick and its interest would be simply for abnormal psychology. I am not interested in abnormal psychology.

There is a change of tension from the first part of the story to the second where the Misfit enters, but this is no lessening of reality. This story is, of course, not meant to be realistic in the sense that it portrays the everyday doings of people in Georgia. It is stylized and its conventions are comic even though its meaning is serious.

Bailey’s only importance is as the Grandmother’s boy and the driver of the car. It is the Grandmother who first recognized the Misfit and who is most concerned with him throughout. The story is a duel of sorts between the Grandmother and her superficial beliefs and the Misfit’s more profoundly felt involvement with Christ’s action which set the world off balance for him.

The meaning of a story should go on expanding for the reader the more he thinks about it, but meaning cannot be captured in an interpretation. If teachers are in the habit of approaching a story as if it were a research problem for which any answer is believable so long as it is not obvious, then I think students will never learn to enjoy fiction. Too much interpretation is certainly worse than too little, and where feeling for a story is absent, theory will not supply it.

My tone is not meant to be obnoxious. I am in a state of shock.

Flannery O’Connor

Likewise, a shared aversion to excessive interpretation is evident in Tolkien's letters.

I have no time to provide bibliographical material concerning criticisms, reviews, or translations. 

The following points, however, I should like to make briefly. 

(1) One of my strongest opinions is that investigation of an author’s biography (or such other glimpses of his ‘personality’ as can be gleaned by the curious) is an entirely vain and false approach to his works – and especially to a work of narrative art, of which the object aimed at by the author was to be enjoyed as such: to be read with literary pleasure. So that any reader whom the author has (to his great satisfaction) succeeded in ‘pleasing’ (exciting, engrossing, moving etc.), should, if he wishes others to be similarly pleased, endeavour in his own words, with only the book itself as his source, to induce them to read it for literary pleasure. When they have read it, some readers will (I suppose) wish to ‘criticize’ it, and even to analyze it, and if that is their mentality they are, of course, at liberty to do these things – so long as they have first read it with attention throughout. Not that this attitude of mind has my sympathy: as should be clearly perceived in Vol. I p. 272: Gandalf: ‘He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.’ 

(2) I have very little interest in serial literary history, and no interest at all in the history or present situation of the English ‘novel’. My work is not a ‘novel’, but an ‘heroic romance’ a much older and quite different variety of literature. 

(3) Affixing ‘labels’ to writers, living or dead, is an inept procedure, in any circumstances: a childish amusement of small minds: and very ‘deadening’, since at best it overemphasizes what is common to a selected group of writers, and distracts attention from what is individual (and not classifiable) in each of them, and is the element that gives them life (if they have any). But I cannot understand how I should be labelled ‘a believer in moral didacticism’. Who by? It is in any case the exact opposite of my procedure in The Lord of the Rings. I neither preach nor teach.

Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien: Revised and Expanded Edition (pp. 580-581). (Function). Kindle Edition. 

In addition, here is an excerpt from C.S. Lewis, which Glyer referenced in her book, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien as Writers in a Community.

Many reviewers said that the Ring in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings was suggested by the atom bomb.  What could be more plausible?  Here is a book published when everyone was preoccupied by that sinister invention. Here in the center of the book is a weapon which it seems madness to throw away, yet fatal to use.  Yet, in fact, the chronology of the book's composition makes the theory impossible.  ("Modern Theology")

I was disappointed that Bishop Barron did not say something along these lines when the conversation took a nosedive, but I imagine it's hard for a host to be too critical in this kind of interview.  Meanwhile, I am left wondering if I should bother with Wildcat, or if I should give it the same authority as...kitty litter.

Writing Quality Fiction

Writing fiction can be a lot of fun, but other times it can feel like herding cats.  Marketing, in particular, often turns into a chore because we (as writers) fail to understand or respect our audience.  When talking about understanding the audience, a good essay on the topic--especially for Catholic authors--is this post be Regina Doman.  This is a good starting point, but, of course, just because fiction is written by a Catholic doesn't necessarily imply its Catholic fiction.  The latter term implies a writing infused with belief and the substance of our faith.  This does not mean preaching, but simply describing the spiritual realities of the world, not shying away from anything.  This quality then leads us to the absolute necessity of respecting one's audience.

This is beautifully addressed by C.S. Lewis in Of Other Worlds: Essays and Stories.  Here is a passage that describes what I am referring to--especially with regards to children's literature.

The third way, which is the only one I could ever use myself, consists in writing a children's story because a children's story is the best art-form for something you have to say: just as a composer might write a Dead March not because there was a public funeral in view but because certain musical ideas that had occurred to him went best into that form. This method could apply to other kinds of children's literature besides stories. I have been told that Arthur Mee never met a child and never wished to: it was, from his point of view, a bit of luck that boys liked reading what he liked writing. This anecdote may be untrue in fact but it illustrates my meaning.

Whether we are talking about children's literature or a work for older audiences, one dimension of this respect lies in whether, or not, the story comes first. Many years ago, for example, I tried to use a short story format to write a tale to prove that some people find right behavior wrong and wrong behavior right. These days we hardly need reminding of this, but, at that time in my life, I was exploring the moral compass of a drug dealer. The story didn't work for many reasons, but probably the main reason was that it began as a kind of moralizing piece; the story was secondary to the message, and this almost always brings ruin to the writer's endeavor.

When it comes to fiction for older readers, my pet peeve is sanitizing dialogue or situations for the taste and preferences of the writer or a select group of potential readers. If you have a story, tell it truthfully. As Flannery O'Connor so eloquently put it,"Fiction is about everything human and we are made out of dust, and if you scorn getting yourself dusty, then you shouldn't try to write fiction. It's not a grand enough job for you.”

Not too long ago, I was discussing a work of fiction with some fellow Catholic writers who were very passionately debating their view that profanity had no place in fiction--especially the writing of a Catholic.  While I don't agree with the premise at all, it did encourage me to lighten the profanity in my own novel, The Blood Cries Out.  (As an aside, I hope when fellow writers make recommendations along these lines (that you accept in part), they have the courtesy to at least read your work.  If they have no interest in the art you create, I'd just as soon they keep their writing suggestions to themselves; they're not part of your audience.)  Some might say that my lightening of the profanity was an unnecessary sacrifice to political correctness, but I suggest that realism and truth can be achieved with a lighter touch at times.  Finding that balance can be hard, but it's what lies at the heart of writing that matters the most: truth. 

Like I wrote for Seattle Pacific University in "Art and the Christian Gospel," we engage the culture around us for Christ by seeking truth even if we happen to be writing fiction or creating another form of art.

Art calls us to worship; it also empowers us to engage our culture with the gospel. Given the present world crisis, I believe Christians have a responsibility to address the moral issues facing us in this troubling time. The words of Christian writers and theologians from C.S. Lewis to Dietrich Bonhoeffer still give us much to consider and discuss. From Michelangelo to Handel, our Christian heritage is also replete with the finest artists and composers who have ever lived. This rich Christian perspective plays a vital role within our culture. It is our responsibility to ensure that this legacy endures and continues.

Christians are aware that there is more to life than what simply meets the eye, and that the spiritual world is just as real as the earth they are standing upon. The Christian must focus and hold on to “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable.” That is the only way we can maintain our clear vision and grip on the eternal priorities facing us.