The Irish ex-pat writer James Joyce revered words. For him, they were not simply a carrier for the plot or a means of conveyance for characterization: they were reason enough for the journey, the nexus of everything he composed. He took heady, drunken pleasure in their sound, shape and use. The way words, when fused together in particular combinations, fall vibrantly or heavily on the senses, especially as, when returned to their essential, primitive use, they are spoken aloud, as best suits his work. His ordering of language was thick, layered yet as mobile and elusive to grasp as mercury unloosed from a thermometer. His quirks ,the arcane mashed with the vulgar, the earthy wed to the elegant, are not the result of egoism or showboating: everything he wrote was, ultimately, an ode to that language, pure and sensual, set down on paper by an artist particularly attuned to its every facet.
All writers must, of necessity if nothing else, have a respect for the language in which they write, as well as their own nonpareil way of mastering it. For some, it is merely a means to an end, the hollowed gourde in which they carry their message to the world. For others, as with Joyce, words themselves are the reason, and everything else is conceived as a way to hold those words up to the light.
Either way, writers write and should be able to do so on any subject that comes to hand, regardless of passion or inherent interest. Shouldn't they? My answer, and my reality, is a firm "no". While possessing my own obsession with language, which apparently pre-dates learning to read at age 3, my facility for expressing it naturally stops far short of , and is formed quite differently, from Joyce's, though I worship at the same altar that he served so well.
I can, and choose to, write about many things. That is the brilliance of free-lancing, and one of the joys of blogging and 'zining professionally. Nothing is thrust on me, ever, unless I choose to allow it, which is rare. Yet, for all of the freedom and creativity that is born from this, it can become too easily ingrained to shy away from certain subjects. The things that I avoid writing about are usually not things at all but, antithetically, human beings. The greater influence an individual has on me--if they have impacted, positively, on my morals, ethics, social conscience, artistry, intellect or sensuous enjoyment of life---the less likely I am able to satisfactorily write about them. Or, to even make the attempt.
I have, a time or two, pushed beyond this self-imposed barrier of fear. Writing an article on George Bernard Shaw, the man whose work and life made me want to be a writer, really a writer, was cathartic. Four years later, I still enjoy that piece so I know that it is, indeed, possible to write passionately and ably, though not worshipfully, about people, literature and events that have helped to form my character and world-view. Following this post, you will find a list of my tricky would-be subjects. It is a professional, and personal, goal of mine to write pieces on each this year, for different outlets, and, in the process, do them and myself justice.
No comments:
Post a Comment