Meaning in Stories

You know, there was one thing that really stood out to me in class today, and was that interpretation of stories is really a very personal thing. I am not saying that interpretations cannot be shared, and are not often created with the intention of being shared, but rather that interpretation, and appreciation, of a written work is in reality a very individual experience. Take the story we read for class today, “The Room”, as an example.

From an aesthetic standpoint, I personally had no enjoyment of the story. I felt that it was poorly constructed and for the most part badly worded. For me, the story did nothing. However, for the reviewers of the O’Henry Prize Stories and some members of the class is probably really struck a cord. That is not to say that neither I, nor they, have bad literary tastes, simply different ones. I know that I, for one, find great interest and inspiration in the fields of fantasy and science fiction, fields that many people do not enjoy. Again, this does not make their feelings, or mine, any less valid, simply different.

After class today, Sarah and I were talking about the class discussion on the possibility of a story. What we ended up focusing on, however, was the question of just how much of writing is instinctual, and how much is planned. When the truly great writers, like those featured in the stories we have read in class, pick up their laptop or their pen to write, how much of what they produce is planned, and how much is simply instinctual? Is it mostly planned? I think not. Personally, I think that writing a story is like learning how to use proper grammar; the learning of the ground-rules is very important, but ultimately the writer must form their own personal understanding of how language works. A writer cannot be analyzing every sentence for the proper formulaic construction, but instead must have such a grasp of language that the proper form comes naturally. Likewise, a writer must have such a grasp of the process and concepts of story making that it comes instinctually to them. Though how this instinctual grasp is formed (whether it is natural or trained into a person, or both), I really don’t know. What I do know is that I, personally, find it very hard to believe someone who expresses to have completely planned every word of their story, every twist of their plot, every symbol present. Likewise, I find it hard to believe the critic who can find profound and total meaning in every word of a story. Does every word have meaning? Sure, but as I said above, critical reading of a text invites the reader/critic to bring their own personal interpretation to what they are reading. I highly doubt that there are literally thousands of book and articles on the works of Shakespeare because Shakespeare imbued his works with that much meaning. Instead, what Shakespeare did was create stories with just enough meaning that the reader, whoever and whenever they may be, can draw whatever they wish from the tale.

That is why I have a problem sometimes with over-analyzing of literature, and also why the quote of Le Guin about how writing needs to be equal parts aesthetic literary performance and story rang with me; stories in which the author is trying to hard in input meaning, is trying to hard to create a story, are equally as bad as stories in which the author simply lets loose with artistry and inputs nothing of substance. The best tales are the ones in which one can get lost in the beauty of the language without getting bogged-down by the heavy-handed attempt at meaning, while at the same time imparting just enough meaning for the reader to make-what they will of the tale. In such tales, every word is imbued with meaning only if the reader so wishes it. I guess that is why sometimes, when it comes to literary analysis, meaning, in the best stories, is what we make it to be, and, to be blunt (and quote Freud), “Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar”.

God that was long.
(PS, sorry that this is late)