Act 1 - The Call, then the Response
"All the world's a stage," set in a bustling literary metropolis. Writers peruse a stack of plays, fantastical scenes swirling in their minds. The characters on those pages beckon.
Ever felt the urge to shout at the pages of a book? Offer rude gestures at the TV screen? Mock an author's fanciful musings? Scrolling through my daily social media feed, I certainly have. We read to access a treasure trove of insights at the heart of this literary metropolis. Texts nurture our contextual comprehension and bestow fresh perspectives on various subjects. They ignite a delightful temptation to dismantle or validate arguments. Writing emerges in response to these ignited impulses, with pen and paper serving as a medium to project our personal voices. This conversational relationship pervades my daily existence. Whenever I delve into the intricacies of a topic, I get enthused; I reach for a pen and the nearest piece of paper, but then...
Act 2 - The Metaphorical and Literal Fourth Wall
Scene 1 - Heresy
The stage is set. Nervous footsteps rush the actors into position. A heavy velvet curtain drapes the room, concealing judgmental eyes.
A curtain separates a writer from their society, marking a "Comfort Zone." Reading allows people to peek behind the stage's curtain at the waiting audience. Many writers, fearing societal judgment, see expectant eyes—the vox populi—before they proceed to shape their personal voices to fit in. Public perception often troubles me. "What will people think of me?" takes precedence in my decision-making. I don't blame writers of this ilk for encountering a judgmental barrier from a dominant narrative. Galileo attempted to introduce the heliocentric model into a discursive, only to end up swiftly under house arrest by the Catholic Church. Alienation from established viewpoints is sadly reinforced by precedent.
Scene 2 - Side Entrance
A door in the curtain swings open. Where are the judgmental eyes?
People often torment themselves by clinging to past horrors, failing to realize they're long gone. The "American Dream" and the freedom of speech shape modern intellectual liberation. In our era, dogmatic foundations have been unequivocally dismantled, opening a side door to free-ranging opinions and perspectives. This is exemplified by English poet John Keats, who, despite being "a few steps removed from the literary scene," manages to insert himself prominently into the realm of writing by adapting and embracing the universally accessible "side door."
Act 3 - The Innovative Character
The curtain rises. The suffocating nervousness dissipates. The actors and their characters merge as one.
Writers resemble actors, embodying literary works from the past. Some stop at that point, and their pastiche dies with the character on the stage. However, others, like Keats, infuse their portrayals with personal flair, radiating their breathtaking charisma through the characters they embody, captivating an eternal audience. Writers eventually realized that people crave innovation, not just a preacher addressing the choir. By using past art as stepping stones to the new, established subjects can be transformed with fresh insights.
"Art begins in imitation and ends in innovation."
In the realm of literature, Zadie Smith, a British novelist, "swims in a certain sensibility" when immersed in great works. Her reading involves "devouring influences" and impersonation, contributing to her success as a writer and highlighting her intertwined conversation between imitation and innovation. I maintain that the evolution of literature constitutes a dynamic relationship oscillating between reading and writing, transcending the individual and their context.
While penning this discourse, I scoured resources for contextual and perspective understanding. I even picked up a few books in hopes of fortifying my syntactical and emotive resolve. However, upon flipping through the initial pages of each book, a common reaction welled within me: a knot in my stomach and an impulse to slam the book shut and toss it back onto the shelf. I felt like an apprentice actor, watching Richard Burbage as Macbeth, while relegated to a lowly servant. Humiliated. Cast aside.
Act 4 - Curtain Call: Pride and Temperament
The actors bow in unison. "All the world's a stage," and I am an envious spectator, drowned out by thunderous applause.
I'm intimately familiar with the blow to one's pride. Like the time I was soundly outperformed by someone half my age, possessing twice the fluency, in a piano competition. Or when I was crafting my English essay, poring over exemplars. Their seamless mastery and skilful diction prompted me to hastily cross out what I had written, feeling disheartened and embarrassed. In retrospect, I can empathize with writers who cling to their pride—it's a significant motivator, after all. As Zadie Smith recounts: To some writers, reading exemplary literature is like plunging a kitchen knife into their heart. It invokes a suffocating sense of futility, like standing at the base of an imposing mountain, taunted by those at its peak.
When a writer's pride takes hold, reading becomes spiteful, jealousy simmers, and the purpose of writing is discarded. Pride is like the curtain, the "Comfort Zone" in which many are ensnared. I eventually came to terms with the idea that "there's always someone better than you, and that's okay."
Act 5 - Finale... Or Is It?
The curtain is drawn, and the characters fade. The actors come and go, but their compelling portrayals endure in universal stasis.
Reading and writing are seamlessly woven into our everyday lives. Reading can illuminate different perspectives, often at the cost of a writer's pride. Writing, in turn, allows for the projection of a personal voice but remains shadowed by the intimidating spectre of judgment. Only through struggle, adaptation, and growth can we possess the power to propagate ideas and discussions beyond our era. Books, scientific reports, constructive critical reviews, less-than-constructive social media posts, plays, and movies all serve as building blocks. Brick by brick, we construct the literary metropolis for generations to come.
If “all the world’s a stage”, and all the men and women merely actors; as our insubstantial pageants fade, the characters we choose to imitate, are left for us to write.
