The revision process is undoubtedly much more enjoyable in poetry than in prose. In fact, perhaps they deserve separate names, since they are very different processes. In the first case, the task is to polish, to swap out this or that word, and in doing so, one immediately reaps the reward of the altered line’s effect—a line that has already demanded work and reflection. In the second case, revision is more a process of correction and rewriting. In poetry, the greatest effort occurs at the beginning, when one must construct the poem’s framework; in prose, the draft flows naturally, and the hard part is transforming it into the final text. Transforming a mediocre line into an elegant one is a joy; correcting flaws in a poorly written text is nothing more than a duty.
Tag: literature
The Old Tales of Chivalry
Once we come into contact with the old tales of chivalry and internalize the values of the medieval knight, we must face reality: the “heroes” of history are far, very far from that fascinating archetype. The legacy of those legends, to be sure, is real and positive; even today, we read them with great benefit and great pleasure. But it is futile to seek concrete embodiments of those ideals, which seem to subject man to an impossible, literary moral standard. With the image of the noble Knights of the Round Table fresh in our minds, we will hardly ever close the biography of a powerful man without feeling some frustration.
The Razor’s Edge, by William Somerset Maugham
This book is proof of what Mário Ferreira dos Santos said—that the novel is a work of maturity. A young person could never have written it: Maugham, at seventy years old, proves himself capable of describing the immense and complex array of possibilities that existence offers. It is a work that portrays character types and choices, possible lives, circumstances, ambitions, and outcomes. It features human traits ranging from the most despicable to the most noble. And there is that unforgettable Larry Darrell, whose life is cut short by the end of the narrative, leaving us inclined to plead with God to bring Maugham back to life so he can finish what he started. Yet a character like this, even if incomplete, makes the book worthwhile: he is a portrait of how rare qualities manifest themselves in the world, of how they elude the obvious, reject the convenient, and seem to stray down an uncertain and undesirable path. In short, they seem like failures. And failure may seem like success. And in the end, one cannot judge with certainty, because sometimes an apparent fidelity to one’s own nature harbors in the past a rejected possibility—perhaps a more authentic one—that was unable to bear fruit. Everything remains in limbo; yet we are left with the privilege of being able to read and reread this exceptional novel.
The Master and Margarita and The Razor’s Edge
It is an interesting experience to read, one after the other, The Master and Margarita and The Razor’s Edge, two very different works. It is impossible not to be impressed by the ingenuity of the former: it reads smoothly; it intrigues and suggests; from the very beginning, the eagerness to turn to the next page never wanes. It is a masterpiece. The second, however, does not display such exuberant creativity. What happens, nevertheless, is this: a novel, in order to be written, demands certain qualities from the author; therefore, experience enables one to write authoritatively on subjects beyond the reach of youth. Thus, the critic, perhaps rightly, may say that Bulgakov’s novel is artistically superior; but the philosopher, also rightly, may note that there is perhaps no nobler goal for a novelist than to develop the qualities that Maugham proved himself capable of possessing.