There is something overtly invasive about biographies that seem to suggest that the very interest in them is reprehensible. What is sought in them is the same intimacy that, in life, common sense commands to respect. But human curiosity is invincible, and biographies are indispensable. Although a work is independent of the biography, the author cannot detach himself from it. And it is they that show us the reality that supports the artistic act, a multifaceted reality, more or less grateful, more or less unusual, but which always motivates expression. They are also responsible for revealing a dimension that is often essential to the correct understanding of a work, and there is no doubt that, because of the much they have clarified and contributed, one ends up at peace with the guilt of that feeling of invasion.
Tag: literature
A Great Writer Does Not Write…
A great writer does not write for his generation and must accept it. It will be more difficult to do so the more he loses the sense of his own greatness or, rather, the greatness of his own mission. Literary activity, the desire to be part of literature, must be seen primarily as a recognition of the value and power of letters. To manifest in this way, and not in any other, implies meditation and choice. Why literature? Reflection will soon point out the obvious: the writer is someone transformed by it, and he writes because the objects of his admiration have done so.
Two Sincere Writers Should Cultivate…
Two sincere writers should cultivate a feeling similar to that which should exist between two well-meaning political opponents: a feeling of respect and identification. In both cases, however, there are very few exceptions that outweigh the commonplace pettiness. Leaving aside superficialities such as style, schools, generations, the fact that two writers, whatever they may be, have a link that sets them apart from the rest of men, both have made an identical choice in the face of the problem of existence, and it is natural that such a distinction should become an affinity. Much more do they agree in choosing literature as a vehicle for the expression of consciousness than they differ in external aspects of the vocation. Admitting this, however, is very difficult and seems to require a virtue that few of them possess.
Comfort Stimulates Inertia
Comfort stimulates inertia, and discomfort gives rise to the need for expression. This is true both individually and collectively. The great themes of every age are precisely what bothered them most. And as soon as a solution appears, either by custom or by change, we notice it by the disappearance of the theme in literature. We approach the individual and find the same thing: it is precisely from discomfort that all authentic literature is born. And if we see it this way, we cannot help but look at the difficulties from an entirely new perspective.