The most interesting thing about any biography is to notice the coincidences that do not seem to be coincidences, and although there is often nothing we can do but identify them, their totality always seems to hold something revealing. There are events whose explanation is one hundred percent useless: the fact itself says more than any possible justification. And they mark, transform, determine, so that sometimes identifying them or not means understanding or not understanding.
Much Can Be Learned From the Way…
Much can be learned from the way these sailors, hunters and other adventurers narrate their experiences. In short, all these narratives consist of the pursuit of a goal, which is hindered by various circumstances. Sometimes the adversity is so great that the goal becomes mere survival. But the narrative always continues with a clear purpose, to which everything else is subordinate. The reader never hesitates about the relative importance of the events, and understands everything so clearly that he feels he is living the story. The story therefore succeeds literarily, presenting the reader with an experience, a life, full of meaning.
It Is Interesting to See How Some of…
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.
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.