It is interesting to see how some of these adventure books make better literature than most fictional novels. It is curious because, at least theoretically, an account sticks to the facts, that is, it comes off as lacking in imaginative possibilities. Even so, it is often better than ingenious mental constructions. Why is that? Certainly not because of the language. As an advantage, one could point to its guaranteed verisimilitude: since it is real, it is easier to convince. But when we think about it a little more, these details give way to the obvious: making good literature is, essentially and simply, telling a good story. If the story is good, the book is good. If it is not good, there is no point in sustaining it with artifice. In the end, it is the same with reports as with fictional literature.
Category: Notes
During the Routine, It Is Difficult…
During the routine, it is difficult to remember the exceptional. To remember it, the mind seems to require silence and solitude. So it easily forgets it, and if it does not make a daily effort to preserve its image, it only becomes aware of it in unexpected, detached, disconnected moments, wasting the bulk of the benefits of its perception. But it is fortunate that the memory comes back and generates a new surprise: in this way the hope is renewed that, this time, it will not be allowed to fade away.
For the Spirit, There Is No Stagnation…
For the spirit, there is no stagnation: it either evolves or deteriorates, without even realizing it. And nothing seems to harm it more effectively than the past, when one does not learn to overcome it. There are endless examples of those who, if they have not stopped in time, will not let go of something that has already passed. This is why the spirit becomes detached from reality and the result is degeneration. There are experiences whose intensity, never relived, seems to determine the being. However, since life is movement, “determination” always has repercussions, whether for good or ill.
It Is Said That the Poet Merejkovsky…
It is said that the poet Merejkovsky, at the age of fifteen, asked Dostoevsky for an opinion on the quality of his first verses. After judging them to be worthless, the experienced novelist justified himself by saying that in order to write well, one has to suffer. Suffer! Of course, there is a lot of truth in this statement: nothing important can be understood before a good dose of suffering, and therefore nothing important can be expressed. But the curious thing is to see that in the hardships, exactly in them, a spark springs up as a response to the circumstantial challenge. The mind, affected, suffers and needs to overcome the situation. Then it has to understand it, scale it, absorb it. The effort ultimately enhances it. Suffering leaves a mark, and the result brings a lesson. It is by experiencing it several times that the writer is able to have something authentic to say.