books are mirrors.

I joke about my major.  Not maliciously– I tend to believe that if you’re passionate about something, you should be able to crack a joke now and again.  Like Godzilla.  I love Godzilla.

But it’s hard not to chuckle a little when, in some movies, he looks like this:

 

Godzilla and progeny, Minya (who has a million different names,
but I like that one best...).  The original film, Gojira was dark
and very poignant.  Then, sequels.  Supposedly, the new Legendary Pictures
film is going to be awesome.  My twelve year old self will
be very disappointed if it's not.  #highhopes

So, every time someone asks about my majoring in English and what-exactly-can-you-do-with-a-degree-like-that-hmmm-seems-a-little-silly-maybe-perhaps,  my standard response is ‘Oh, I’ll be a homeless poet!’

The people I’m with tend to laugh with me, and honestly, it’s not impossible that I’ll be a really, really poor writer someday, scribbling poems on subway walls or something cliché like that.

But my response doesn’t actually answer the question.  It deflects it and confirms their suspicions, though I hope the dedication to art that this brand of homelessness implies helps them realize how important writing, my art, is to me.  So, I suppose it sort of answers the question.  It noncommittally addresses the importance of writing to me.

But it barely begins to address the aspect of my studies that’s not dedicated to writing my own poetry, or stories, or this blog.  Actually, I suspect that’s really what they’re wondering about.  Like, why major in reading books?  Basic assumption: well, you can’t really write well without reading good writing, so you may as well pick a major that builds that into the equation.

That’s partially true.  I study English because– I kid you not– writing yourself onto paper is extremely difficult without reading other people on paper.  I’m not actually a big fan of the English poet Philip Larkin anymore, but when I first encountered his poem ‘High Windows, my brain went, ‘Whoah!!!  Depth of symbolism and double meanings is a thing, bro” and my writing, conversely, plunged far deeper than it ever had before– both stylistically and thematically, because they actually go hand in hand.

So.  I’m an English major to facilitate my writing.  A few months ago, I might have told you that’s the main reason.  If you asked why I study English and were genuinely curious, I’d probably give you some shade of the homeless writer thing and mention how you can’t write unless you read.

That’s changed.

~          ~          ~

Before I go further with that bit, I must mention a related issue: people who don’t even make it to the ‘English, hmmm?  Uh.  Why bother?’ but who remain stuck at ‘Well, reading is good and fine and dandy, but it’s hardly a serious business, no indeed.  Readers are just being entertained.  It’s not important.’

Aha.

Suspend belief for a moment.  Take a leap, as Neo did with Morpheus in The Matrix.  What if, in fact, it’s very important?  Not just a little, hey-it’s-a-good-thing important, but more on the this-is-a-piece-of-what-makes-us-human important.

 

 I believe it’s weighed more heavily towards option #2.

The arguments that I come up against most often, whether it be in casual conversation or scrolling through comments on something online (which is an almost reverse transcendental way to lose faith in humanity) is that fiction– such thinkers don’t tend to make it as far as poetry– is, well, just that.  Fiction.  And they unconsciously synonymize ‘fiction’ with ‘false’.  A harmless falsehood, to be sure.  Fine as long as it doesn’t interfere with the business of life.  But false nonetheless.  It’s not real, hence it follows that it shouldn’t be taken very seriously.

The opinion, sadly, isn’t actually very rare.  I even know artistic, talented people who flirt with this idea, which makes me sad.

Because, to be clear, these ideas are false, not the fiction, not the writing.  In a large way, the origin of the argument against the importance of fiction (and, by extension, all forms of creative writing and the art of writing) lies in a misconstrual of words.

Let’s substitute words for a few minutes.  Fiction becomes mirror.  Reading turns into gaze.

Lastly, change reader into soul.

Fiction is not a charming falsehood; it is a dramatic and living portrait of our human self.  Writers, true writers, pour their souls into their work.  And I’m not talking about investment of time– some brilliant things have been written in less than an hour.  I mean that the very essence of a person is intricately bound inside the words they write.  The act of writing, in fact, is an expression of their humanity, poured into words.

Art is a fascinating activity in that its essence comprises the self attempting to express the self.  For writers, this soullular movement arises through language, bringing words together and telling us themselves and, if they are truly wearing the artist’s cloak, shedding light on us in in the process.  A writer’s work is a gift– we receive it, and then, bringing it into ourselves, allow it to tell us a piece of what it is to be human.

The Soul gazes into the Mirror, and sees itself reflected Back.

 

Because it’s not just the human, the normal human, who reads.  Reading, an interior activity, creates a special state present only to the reader and the words themselves.  It’s not like looking in a mirror when there are other people in the room.  You’re alone with the writer’s gift, staring you back as your own self.  Their humanity is present and so ours, recognizing like with like, sees itself.

(Like all analogies, you can only take the whole mirror thing so far, but you get the idea.)

Reading takes the reader to a singular location, independent of the rest of us.  Yet, at the same time, the Soul is then wound more tightly with the rest of humanity, because fiction, remember, is Mirror, revealing the Soul’s humanity in a way far more intimate than is possible during the tremendous distraction of life.  Not that life is just a distraction, or anything like that– but, in doing only exterior activity, often associated with interpersonal relations, it can distract from our awareness of our own self.  And that’s not healthy, spiritually.  We are individuals.

So, the Soul gazes, and sees itself.

And it’s not selfish.  Self oriented, yes, but in viewing ourselves revealed, we become more human– or instead, become more capable of our humanity– and thus are more to the people around us.  Reading illuminates us.

At the profoundest level, I believe such mirrorgazing brings us closer to God.  I don’t mean that in a hardline existential kind of manner, where we become God, but in the sense that, in becoming more human, we are more what we were created to be, and thus closer to God, the Creator.

~          ~          ~

So.  The act of reading, and the value of writing, is actually a reflection that takes us deeper into being human.  Rather than being frivolous, it’s actually a powerful testament to our species.  Storytelling is elemental in us, and essential.  As far back as we remember, we’ve told stories, and for nearly all history we know, we’ve written.  The forms change.  Modernly, you’re most likely to find a Mirror through a novel, or a graphic novel.  Or a film.  Because of the writing aspect, I don’t think it’s inappropriate to include movies.  In ancient Greece, you’d be more likely to jive with a play or epic poetry.  But the form doesn’t matter so much– varying styles tend to suit their era- as the import of the form to its receivers.

 

Architecture of the classical world.  Suited them.
(Actually, this is a heavily romanticized take on it, but still.  It's the spirit that counts here.)
Unfortunately, I couldn't find an image of this awesome
painting (Jupiter Pluvius, by Joseph Michael Gandy) in color... sorrow.

In all honesty (a phrase I never used to use, but one of my best friends says it a ton and since we both work for the same employer, I hear it all the time and boom, osmosis…), it’s not a sign of progress or an enlightened society that we should be dismissive of reading and, by extension, writers.   A society of people who don’t pull inward and face themselves through reading– and I won’t be a snob about it, a similar but different effect can emerge from watching a film with the right intention [i.e., being just entertained] so count that, too– is impoverished.  Spiritually and intellectually.  We deprive ourselves of one of the most essential ways of expression and exploration of the interior by not gazing into the Mirror.

~          ~          ~

And that’s one of the main reasons I’m majoring in English.  It’s of course entirely possible to read, truly read, without a degree.  If it weren’t, this whole post would be a little silly.  ‘Here, let me pointlessly persuade the value of this thing I’m encouraging you to do, and then please forgive me as I tell you you can’t’.

But studying English, in the focused way the major affords, allows you continual opportunities to do so and helps sharpen your ability to gaze into the Mirror.

I don’t believe for a moment my time is wasted in classes dedicated to reading and analysis.  Yes, I could read any of those books on my own.  But the insights of teachers whose lives are dedicated to the art means so much, and the opportunity to discuss the ideas with other students also immersed in it… it’s pretty cool.  I’ll laugh about it, joke about it, but only because I love English.  I might be a poor poet someday.  Probably will be, really.  But that doesn't de-value my studies.  I'm not in school to get a job, and English is a beautiful way to delve deeper into your own humanity.

~          ~          ~

So.  I apologize if this was at all ranty!  I hope it didn’t go too far in that direction.

And, to be clear, this isn’t the only way reading and writing benefit us.  But I think it’s one of the most important aspects, and one of the strongest arguments against the fallacy that reading, and the writing that provided the material, isn’t important.

Take care, everyone!