The Future of Writing

The above image, captured by French inventor Nicéphore Niépce in 1825 and titled 'View from the Window at Le Gras' is commonly regarded as the first photo ever taken and, coincidentally enough, was published in Roland Barthes' (yes, the very same) book Camera Lucida. What the photo allegedly depicts is an outside table being set for the evening meal, but what it shows more importantly is the beginning of a new and now viral manner of recording events, places and people: photography. In many ways you could argue that the recorded image has always been the enemy of writing: whilst photos haven't come to replace the written word per se, they've certainly enhanced our enjoyment and understanding of countless stories and texts: from the likes of the illustrated story books that we were read as children, to the textbooks we hurriedly digest with hungry brains before exams.

But to this day no method of recording information, has proved as efficient and versatile as the written word.

Just as Barthe's argues that a text can exist happily without the author, it could be said that a picture – like the one above – speaks for itself without the need for an accompanying caption (although in this instance it certainly helps). With the widespread ownership of a plethora of electronic devices you would have thought we could all but leave written text behind, opting instead to communicate through the spoken word or visuals alone whilst recording every choice event as pictures and videos. And yet, at times we still choose the text message over the phone-call and record events in writing rather than sound or video (much like this blog).

Writing clearly has a practical place of its own before you even begin to consider it on purely artistic merit and this ingrained association of the written word as art in itself has become so obvious as to be abused. I'm sure not half the Fifty Shades enthusiasts would confess to being a fan of an adult movie by the same name, but the fact that E.L. James wrote a smutty book instead of a film has given the series a disconcerting level of success it may (or arguably, should) never otherwise have known.

The Invisible Writer

Should writer's be invisible? For many writers, writing is in and of itself, enough. Emily Dickinson and Franz Kafka to name a couple of authors, never intended or indeed actively requested that their work be published. But had Max Brod not posthumously published Kafka's work, his friend's uniquely surreal style might never have been recognised and we may never have adopted that most modernist of terms, Kafkaesque. Similarly had Lavinia Dickinson not released her sister's work, the reclusive poet may have remained invisible to the world forever.

The real crux of the matter is, whether an author's personal desire to remain invisible at the cost of depriving the public of their work is a fair price to pay.

Both Dickinson and Kafka have become household names as significant and influential writers of the 20^th Century and, without the latter, a young travelling salesman may never have woken up to find himself transformed into a 'giant vermin': a story which has become the subject of a plethora of satirical and tribute works. On the other hand, as respected as both writers are, by reading work they never intended to be published, one could argue that to an extent we are showing them an equal level of disrespect.

On balance however, I'd be inclined to say that the appreciation of a writer's work surpasses the issue of whether or not the author intended it to be published, providing that the writing does not infringe severely upon their right for privacy: Lavinia Dickinson's destruction of (the majority) of her sister's love letters was an understandable deed, however many would argue that destruction of her poetry would not be.

And had Kafka's work never been published, this might never have existed:

Right To Write?

As a writer, is it necessary in to write about political and social issues of our time? And furthermore, what constitutes as a worthy issue to be discussed? A writer like George Orwell, for example, would certainly agree that it is very much the responsibility of writers to address contemporary political and social issues: remarking in his 1946 essay 'Why I Write' that 'It seems to me nonsense, in a period like our own, to think that one can avoid writing of such subjects.' 'Well obviously' I hear you say, 'Orwell was a raging leftie who loved to satirise dictators and totalitarians as farmyard fiends: of course he'd tell you to write about politics.' And it's at this point I'd like to point out that Orwell also wrote an comprehensive 11-point essay on the perfect cuppa.

The fact of the matter is, that consciously or not, every issue a writer tackles will be relevant to the time.

Examining Emily Dickinson's poems, for example, affectionados of her work such as Richard Sewall argue, with good reason, that Dickinson's work intentionally deals with the American Civil War of her time - albeit through largely metaphorical language - whilst Daniel Aaron concludes that even those poems which deal directly with the war are moreover a reflection of Dickinson's inner conflicts. It's hard to deny that Dickinson's work is certainly affected by the war, but even if this were not the case and her poetry simply reflected her inner conflicts it would be no less of an issue of the time: granted, the Civil War will always be the more pressing issue of the time to the masses, but like Orwell's perfect cup of tea, Dickinson's inner conflict is no less pressing an issue, if only purely on a personal level.

Fundamental Flaws

Does a character who embodies the flaws of the author detract from the narrative of a story?

I guess in many ways the answer is 'yes': a story which revolves around a character constructed from the weaknesses of the author may indeed detract from the narrative if, as a reader, we become overly interested or even infatuated with the imperfections of the writer. In John Cheever's The Swimmer, for example, it would be all too easy to draw comparisons between the story's protagonist Ned and Cheever himself: it would certainly be hard to ignore both men's affection for a touch of tipple. It may be tempting therefore, to get hung up on the references to the writer's own alcoholic tendencies and so lose track of the narrative, but I think to do so would be unfair when Cheever has crafted a story with a far more important focus: why the hell is this guy Ned gallivanting around the neighbourhood invading his pals pools in the first place?

I think however, that sometimes the narrative grows out of the flaws of the author, and may in fact find a hard time existing at all were it not for the fatal foibles of the writer. Let's take William Burroughs' A Naked Lunch as an example. Most people would probably not consider a crippling heroine addiction the most attractive character trait, and yet, were it not for Burrough's drug-drenched biography we probably wouldn't have the almost tiresomely grotesque and explicit tale of addiction, depravation and downright despair that A Naked Lunch turned out to be. It would seem therefore, that in some cases the narrative of a story would be at its most flawed without the flaws of the writer.