There is a full literary spectrum that helps to capture our most human conditions.
The On Impulse e-Book Series is about exploring the different ways we tell our stories. So I worked with the media of catharsis and technique of deconstruction in The War is Language: 101 Short Works. By contrast, in Love & Darts I'm more interested in the primary narrative elements of craft and in depictions of our assumptive social constructs.
Catharsis isn't about what’s at stake in a conflict. A reactionary response is often less than engaging. By the time a person is freaking out events have already transpired. The expression is not tempered with reason, with contemplation, with artistry. Reactive outbursts seem evidence of instability and lack of control.
Fiction’s narrative elements do the work of mitigating mood. Plot helps modulate the rise and fall. Setting orients the reader by creating an experience similar to a guided meditation. Such provision is much different from what amounts to a writer’s screaming at a reader. Characterization helps the self-pity drop away. Why me dissipates while empathy remains.
Emotive vacillations aren’t received as symphonic contrast. A writer’s attempt to keep the mood consistent helps the reader be less jarred, less shocked, less confused, less defensive. The point of view for catharsis is basically infantile. There can be very little authority. When a writer chooses this perspective he or she must beg the reader’s respect.
Of course, if you miss the moment, miss the expression of emotion, then that tangibility of living a real life alive in all its changeability is lost.
Fiction conveys meaning better than does catharsis. Regardless of the intimate access and the visceral presence that catharsis as text provides, people don't want to parse it, they don't have time to become possessed by the writer, and the emotional roller coaster has a deadening effect.
Our interactions in the digital domain invite expressions of the now. Social media platforms and our twenty-four-hour news cycle create foment and a seeming imperative to keep up. There is a tendency toward catharsis and it should not be denied.
But by using narrative elements fiction keeps the sense and loses the nonsense.
We are a diverse culture fragmented by convicted factions. It's interesting to select structural assumptions from different cultural niches and present them together in one collection of stories. In some ways I've done that here. Perhaps the work invites a reader not only to examine the other as an individual but the other as a collective. By representing the rules of the world of polyamory in one story and those of religious monogamy in another the structuralist givens of both communities are set in contrast to the reader’s own.
Crafting stories based upon cultural givens yields a relatable understanding of what's real, whether or not a reader’s critical thinking can dissect the structural underpinning/overlay. The use of such consensual structures added to plot, setting, characterization, tone, conflict, and point of view combine to create a vivid reading experience.
Studying the storytelling impulse reveals how many constructs exist within literature itself. Catharsis does not seem worthwhile. So beyond using catharsis as a medium I attempted deconstruction (and even destruction of narrative) in The War is Language. The writing style in 2000 Deciduous Trees perhaps aligns with careless crafts of escape: paper snowflakes made from newspaper. Love & Darts explores the rudiments of structuralism that a writer may choose to apply to an inhabited scene. And my hope is that in How to Cherish the Grief-Stricken I may be able to find that sweet spot between politicized philosophies—a place where the writer’s work allows for a reader’s catharsis, which is likely the best proof we have that any book is a good one.
2/24/2012