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Writing with Kundera and McEwan
Nov. 23rd, 2004 01:33 pmI had a nice conversation with Kevin and Allison last night. I was lying in bed, trying to work on my novel, with Kevin lying beside me and reading texts for school, when Allison came in and sat on our bed. They asked me whether they could read my novel and I said that it was nowhere near acceptable; that it needed editing and reshaping. We then started talking about postmodernity, modernism, and semiotics.
I'd been thinking earlier about a passage I read from Milan Kundera's book The Art of the Novel, where he talks about the creation of the fictional character. He says that until Kafka, authors were concerned with writing down the character's past, loves, interests, history. Basically exposing the characters life and thoughts because that was, in their mind, the objective of the novel. With Kafka, that notion was thrown away - the character's predicament became the centre point. It no longer mattered what kind of family he had, what he looked like or what was his favourite food; what mattered was how he dealt with his existential dilema. In Kafka's novel The Trial, for example, you know nothing about the main character, other that he's been accused of a crime. Kundera goes on to describe how he shapes his novels by assigning key words to his characters that represent their existential dilemas. Those key words could be seen as symbols, and the story as the form in which characters deal with them.
When I returned to my novel, I felt as if I'd been spurned on by Kundera's ideas. Everything began to fall into place, a voice appeared out of nowhere that I liked. I wrote a passage that I really loved.
I'm not even close to reaching the end of the NaNoWriMo goal, but that's ok. I like the story I'm telling and I wish to continue working on it after November is gone. It was a nice incentive to write tons of stuff this month, but I'm not wrapping that chain around my neck and diving into the Thames anytime soon. I'd rather treat my material with some respect.
Finally, something that Kevin told me last night: Ian McEwan (one of my favourite authors) writes thousands and thousands of words before he reaches the point where he thinks his novel begins. He might even throw away half a novel in the process. And he begins his writing from nowhere. He simply writes. I feel the same about writing (eventhough I started my novel with a plan). So many good ideas come to me when I'm deep into the process, when I'm not looking the right way. They sneak behind me, tap my shoulders, and point towards a trail that leads into a different part of the forest. It's always a good idea to stop what you are doing and follow that trail.
I'd been thinking earlier about a passage I read from Milan Kundera's book The Art of the Novel, where he talks about the creation of the fictional character. He says that until Kafka, authors were concerned with writing down the character's past, loves, interests, history. Basically exposing the characters life and thoughts because that was, in their mind, the objective of the novel. With Kafka, that notion was thrown away - the character's predicament became the centre point. It no longer mattered what kind of family he had, what he looked like or what was his favourite food; what mattered was how he dealt with his existential dilema. In Kafka's novel The Trial, for example, you know nothing about the main character, other that he's been accused of a crime. Kundera goes on to describe how he shapes his novels by assigning key words to his characters that represent their existential dilemas. Those key words could be seen as symbols, and the story as the form in which characters deal with them.
When I returned to my novel, I felt as if I'd been spurned on by Kundera's ideas. Everything began to fall into place, a voice appeared out of nowhere that I liked. I wrote a passage that I really loved.
I'm not even close to reaching the end of the NaNoWriMo goal, but that's ok. I like the story I'm telling and I wish to continue working on it after November is gone. It was a nice incentive to write tons of stuff this month, but I'm not wrapping that chain around my neck and diving into the Thames anytime soon. I'd rather treat my material with some respect.
Finally, something that Kevin told me last night: Ian McEwan (one of my favourite authors) writes thousands and thousands of words before he reaches the point where he thinks his novel begins. He might even throw away half a novel in the process. And he begins his writing from nowhere. He simply writes. I feel the same about writing (eventhough I started my novel with a plan). So many good ideas come to me when I'm deep into the process, when I'm not looking the right way. They sneak behind me, tap my shoulders, and point towards a trail that leads into a different part of the forest. It's always a good idea to stop what you are doing and follow that trail.
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