Confusing The Art and the Artist
It’s one of the classic mistakes, isn’t it? The quality of the art has no dependence on the character or personal qualities of the artist, right? It’s entirely possible for a complete bounder and an utter cad to be a brilliant and gifted writer, who can produce sterling prose that informs the mind and touches the heart, isn’t it? Actually, that’s not a question; I’m sure that it is. The converse, of course, is also true–that wonderful, brilliant people are entirely capable of producing utter dreck. This is perhaps more obvious.
So why is it that sometimes knowing things about some authors makes it hard for me to enjoy their work? Shouldn’t I be able to maintain a mental separation between art and artist? (And again, the converse is true: why is it that knowing things about other artists makes me enjoy their work more?)
I think it’s just down to human nature–the same factor that makes us forgive our friends things that we would castigate others for, or makes us lose patience with people we dislike over things that should be trivial. The evaluation of the art is always happening a context, and part of that context–whether it makes sense or not–is the mental image of the author.
(Sometimes, of course, you don’t have a mental image of the author. Since these images can be both pro and con, I guess you get a more objective read in those cases).
So let’s just take it as read that we should be able to keep art and artist separate, but that in practice we (or at least I) can’t.
I first noticed this a while back, when I found out that an author whose books I had generally quite enjoyed was both a gun nut and the kind of guy who would repeatedly call games that gave the dealer (i.e. himself) an advantage when playing at a dealer’s choice table. (Yeah, I know: poker, killer instinct, taking all the advantages, etc. It still just says “no class” to me.)
I found that when reading his books, I was looking for flaws, or reasons to dislike the books, and I was more ready to reject them. I did end up rejecting one set of books completely, although I still give him a chance on other works. His latest novel was actually quite good, and even with the negative bias going in, I quite enjoyed it–but he was definitely working uphill to convince me.
This sort of “personal knowledge” factor was a pretty rare thing in the days before everyone had a web page, or now a blog. You had to actually meet the authors and have some kind of personal interaction to find out things that didn’t come from the art, and that was pretty rare.
Now, though, everyone and their goldfish has a blog or some kind of online presence, and it’s especially common among SF/F genre writers. You have many, many opportunities to see the artist “speak” not through their art, and much more about their personas becomes available to the audience.
Obviously this will work out both for the good and the bad, as some audience members will be attracted to the displayed personality, some will be repelled, and some just won’t care. And some authors will work very hard at crafting a public persona that attracts the maximum number of readers, while hiding (or at least omitting) potentially objectionable facets of themselves.
Lately, though, I’ve been running into so many on the negative side (at least for me) that I’m wondering if I shouldn’t stop trying to find out about authors all together.
There was finding out that the author of a brilliant series of post-scarcity mad ideas science fiction had converted to annoyingly deep and arational faith (and without even the redeeming benefits of pink lasers from space and gnostic hereseys!), for example. This has pretty solidly biased me against his forthcoming work. (The deathbed conversion is even more abhorrent to me than any other kind–it’s just so obviously an “I am scared and need a happy lie to keep myself warm” thing.) Of course he hasn’t published anything yet that was written post conversion, so I can’t comment on whether or not the quality of the writing has changed, but the bias is already in effect. It’s particularly jarring here, since I the mental image I had of someone who could write those amazing first three books is so at odds with my mental image of the kind of person who would have a life-changing conversion after a close shave with death.
Another one that’s really killing me, is reading this piece by Dan Simmons. Man, I loved Ilium and Olympos, and I’m a pretty big fan of the Hyperion books. Song of Kali was pretty great, too. But after reading that piece, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to enjoy those books again, without the stench of hatred and fear that pervades it polluting my mind. Gah. (I am actually holding out some small hope that this was a Swiftian satire, but reading message board comments like this afterwards isn’t helping.)
(UPDATE: Simmons posts an explanatory message. It might help you–to me he just comes off as incredibly arrogant, and his explanation does nothing to alleviate the problems I had with the first piece. Heart-breaking.)
Of course, as I said, it’s not all negative. Scott & Justine would be great examples of people whose online personas only make it easier for me to enjoy their books. Or Jeff Ford–although his books are so good, I’d probably still be able to enjoy them even if he fell in love with Anne Coulter and became a Scientologist. Or Karl Schroeder. Or… well, I could go on for quite a while, and that’s without even talking about all the authors I know “in real life” whose works I am predisposed to like, because I like the people.
I’m not sure what the conclusion is here. For authors, the obvious conclusion is to be mindful of the potential effect of your online persona on your audience. For me, in the audience, there isn’t as obvious a conclusion. Maybe I just need to reconcile myself again to the fact that the artist and art are different, and try not to be so shocked when an artist reveals himself to be very different from my mental idea of who they are. I’m not sure I can do anything about the related bias question, or even if I should feel like I should do anything about it.
Ross Patterson
Phil
Ch4v3z!
Julian
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April 10th, 2006 at 1:42 pm
I’m actually more troubled by people who do become aware of things like, say, the scary underlying politics of Orson Scott Card, which do spill over into his work, but continue to read him blissfully unanalytically. (Well, being honest here, I’m troubled by their continuing to read it, period, but I’ll play at charity.)
April 10th, 2006 at 2:19 pm
Right. There’s another good example. I never really dug the Ender’s Game books, but I did rather enjoy the Alvin Maker books (even though they were pretty clearly based on Mormon theology) and since reading some of Card’s opinion pieces, I can’t read them at all.
April 10th, 2006 at 2:36 pm
Reading this reminded me of something you once said to me. I can’t remember the exact words, but it was a long the lines of “I want to know so much that I can be an asshole and not care, because people will still have to listen to me”.
Maybe it is a similar thing with authors. If they know they have talent and are good, they can afford to be self-indulgent and rely on the fact that their work speaks for itself. They don’t care what some red-haired guy in his basement wearing no pants thinks of them as people, because they know he will like their writing anyway..
April 10th, 2006 at 6:20 pm
Strange. It seems to me crucial to understand where other people are coming from–even if you disagree–which is supposedly SF & F’s great triumph: the examination of the other.
April 10th, 2006 at 6:41 pm
Well, I guess that’s kind of the point–if you understand where someone is coming from, but don’t agree with it, doesn’t that necessarily inform your opinion of that person? I mean I hope I can understand anyone’s viewpoint to some degree, but obviously I’m not going to agree with all of them, and equally obviously my disagreement will inform my opinion of the person to some extent. The extent, I hope, based on both the nature and degree of the disagreement.
The issue I’m talking about here happens after the examination you bring you–it’s about the consequences of the examination.
April 10th, 2006 at 7:41 pm
This is about me, right? I know this is about me. Don’t put up posts about authors when authors read your blog! That’s eee-vil!
Okay, that’s out of my system. I did tell you the story about Joel’s home invasion, didn’t I? Some scary people got into his house. He had a gun handy, and they fled. His conclusion is that people should have guns handy. Now, these scary people were known for going into houses where people didn’t lock their back doors. Joel didn’t lock his back door. My conclusion is that people should lock their back doors.
But I do understand why he’s terrified. At the time, he had a wife and, if I remember correctly, an infant child in the house. Guns have been good to him, so he concludes that guns are good.
As for the internet, yes, our mistakes our public and permanent now. Sigh. Humans make associations; separating Dan Simmons the artist from Dan Simmons the guy who doesn’t know shit is tough. I hope people who read my blog will make that distinction: Will the idiot and Will the artist aren’t always the same. The problem with Dan Simmons’ latest bit of work is that because it’s in the guise of a story, he’s added a third persona to the mix: Dan Simmons the artist who doesn’t know shit.
April 10th, 2006 at 8:07 pm
I’m not Mormon, and I disagree with Card on homosexuality. But I’m interested in what he has to say. I thought “Boys” badly mischaracterized men, but that isn’t going to stop me from reading Carol Emshwiller. I suppose if Card had said, “Round up all the gays and…” then I’d boycott him. As it is, we live in a democracy. We voice our opinions. We go to the polls. Opinions change. We go to the polls again in two years, then two years later.
I guess, as a writer, I feel I need to see myself and society as archaeologists of our own age. In fact, I demand that of the writers I read if they have any reasonable claim at talent (although, of course, that cannot be the sole claim). I happen to be an agnostic Christian. I try to stay on the Christian side, but sometimes I can’t help myself. Does that mean you cannot read what I write 75+% of the time (I’m not sure of the true % of my doubt–maybe 99% on good days)? I just finished reading the selection of Koran in the Norton’s World Masterpieces. I loved hearing what it had to say about Christians and Jews and unbelievers. Although I do not agree, I am now informed (if only partially) on how they view us! We can engage in debate. Even more funny is that some Christians probably wouldn’t see me as Christian. Oh well. We can still talk about it.
I read up on Zen. I’ve read four Harry Potters (only recommend book 3, if any). I enjoy James Patrick Kelly and Jay Lake, who apparently aren’t interested in religion at all and aren’t afraid to voice it. (Asimov’s atheism was well-reasoned in essays, but not so well dramatized.) Should I not read them? I absolutely should read them. We live in a culture that can easily polarize and violently divide if we don’t start listening to each other.
The religion/science divide is silly. I heartily recommend Stephen Jay Gould’s book to both atheist and believer (although I am dubious of a God-of-the-Gap, but that may be the case–who knows? Not you, not I, not the whales in the sea! In the meantime, until we’re dust or standing at Allah’s or Yahweh’s gates to be judged or waiting to be reincarnated like the bumblebees we are, we’d do best to tolerate differences.
April 10th, 2006 at 8:19 pm
Definitely not about you, Will. You, and your lovely, both fall into the “the authors I know ‘in real life’ whose works I am predisposed to like, because I like the people” bucket. Of course, I’d probably like Dogland and Bone Dance, for example, even if you two were baby-eating robber barons, etc.
I pulled Joel’s gun nuttery as an example specficially because he not only believes it, but proselytizes it. (Although, his comments in response to Schneier, in particular the story about going to Bruce’s wedding “strapped” didn’t do my impression of him much good either. It’s here, scroll down to “Bruce Schneier on Guns in Cockpits: A Quick Fisking”). Still, I’ll be buying Knight Moves in hardcover, because I quite liked Paladins. Maybe it’s actually more of a compliment that I dug that book, since I was working against a pre-exisiting bias.
And I guess that the nigh-avoidable forming of associations is the thing I’m chewing over.
April 10th, 2006 at 8:37 pm
Trent, I’m not interested in debating religion versus science–frankly, you can’t rationally debate that since the point of religion is in literally irrational faith. Besides which, the point of the post isn’t the specific examples of what lowers my impression of an author, and thus affects my reading of their books, it’s that very relationship between the audience’s mental impression and their reading of a work. For every thing I listed that turns me off, there are certainly people who will be turned on and more interested in the works of those specific authors. The other thing that’s interesting to me is how this association process has become so much more commonplace given the ease with which we can now connect to the public persona of the author.
To deal with the specific example of Wright–and I probably should have stopped at the end of the last paragraph–it’s not that I’m rejecting all books that somehow bear on religion. This is a specific case not based on the fact that he has a faith, but rather that it is both a proselytizing one and one that’s based on a near-death conversion.
The preaching aspect worries me in so far as there is a chance that might turn up in his fiction–that he will be writing message books, and despite my interest in seeing things from other viewpoints I have very rarely seen one of those that maintained the integrity of the story.
The near-death conversion aspect just pushes my own atheistic buttons. As I said in the body of the piece, it’s just so obvious an escape for someone who has been severely scared. I don’t see that aspect having a negative effect on his writing–if anything, it might have expanded the range of experience he can draw upon in his writing.
However, it does lower my respect for him, which was incredibly high after reading his first three books and that will affect how I perceive his future works. And that’s what I’m really posting about, specific examples aside.
And just for a quick genre example of a work with serious religious content that I quite enjoyed, I would point to Julian May’s Galactic Milieu books, which are to a certain extent an exegesis of Teilhard de Chardin’s thinking. Or a different example, Tim Powers is pretty damn Catholic, and aspects of that show up in all of his books, but that hasn’t stopped him from being (probably) my favourite living novelist.
April 10th, 2006 at 9:02 pm
I wholly agree that preaching is bad form in fiction, but it’s bad form no matter what your religion (lack thereof) or politics. Robots of Dawn, Strangers in a Strangeland, or anything by Ayn Rand sucked as fiction sense not because of their politics but because it wasn’t fiction. It was standing on a soapbox. Essays–unless they’re creative nonfiction–are essentially soapboxes. I’m not debating science vs. religion, but getting at the point you raise:
However, it does lower my respect for him, which was incredibly high after reading his first three books and that will affect how I perceive his future works.
You haven’t read these future works; therefore, it is a form of pre-judging. You may be right. They may well suck. But that judgment may be premature. As I said, I may or may not have read that Jay or Jim Kelly or Isaac Asimov did not share my beliefs before I read them, but I hope that wouldn’t stop me from reading their work. And I certainly give an automatic by to friends or Christians who happen to have written a story.
Aesthetics exists completely outside the realm of politics. Some artists have taken that to mean that politics don’t belong in art. I disagree, but I also disagree that since we are all political beings, we can only read or write the “right” kind of politics. The first is a lesser crime, being short-sighted. The latter could potentially wreck the art.
April 10th, 2006 at 10:22 pm
Occasional gun nuttery aside, I have problems getting past writers (and movie makers) who had done misdeeds with children, ranging from Woody Allen to Walter Breen.
And I also refuse to read people who have 1. tried to punch me or 2. said evil things about me that got back to me. After all, there is only so much reading time in the universe, and anything that helps weed out a few books I always welcome.
Jane
April 11th, 2006 at 12:49 am
I don’t want to speak for you, Chris, but for me it’s not so much a confusion as it is a desire to connect. I know for myself that I search for connection with the writers whose work I admire–not so much a stalking kind of thing (grin) but a desire to know that someone whose work has touched me is the kind of person whom I might admire in other ways. It personalizes the intimacy I’ve already experienced with their work, if that makes sense.
And when I discover that person is someone that I might, in the cold light of day, characterize as an asshole….well, that’s really disappointing, and it’s like bleach on that lovely sense of personal connection. Scours it right off, or at least weakens the bonds.
I believe that in this time of “instant access” it’s inevitable that readers look for more connection with writers than simply the prose. I think that’s something that writers have to deal with in whatever way they think best–but it seems to me that dealing with it is no longer optional. And if you wouldn’t invite someone into your home for dinner, why would you invite them into your mind and heart for the kind of intimacy that story provides? I might, but I can certainly understand that not everyone would.
Kelley
April 11th, 2006 at 1:38 am
Jane, of course you should be reluctant to read people who are certifiably insane. I’m pretty sure that’s in the dictionary: “certifiably insane: mean to Jane Yolen.”
Chris, didn’t mean to sound too self-conscious, but it is an issue that concerns me. Sometimes I wish I’d gone the B. Traven route. I keep trying to decide whether I want to be seen as a reasonable human being or simply take my obsessions full throttle. I think it’s too late for the former, and yet I don’t like most people who go for the latter. I want to be a reasonable nut.
April 11th, 2006 at 9:16 am
Hi Jane. Oops, I mean Dr.5 Yolen. Is there a long list of people who have tried to punch you? That’s hard for me to imagine. Now, your son…
I agree with you an important part of this is that there is no scarcity of good stuff to read–that makes the personal bias thing more likely to affect a choice. Or, as Gwenda so succinctly puts it on her blog:
I also think that your example of someone who has committed unforgiveable acts (as opposed to some who has opinions I disagree with, which was what I was previously thinking about) is quite instructional. While I might struggle with “is it wrong to let my opinions about the authors opinions affect my reading of his work?” it’s a lot less trouble to struggle with “is it wrong to have a bias against the art of an artist you know to be despicable”.
Hi Kelley. I think you are definitely on to something with the “desire to connect” angle. I think that part of the reason that we connect with works is because the author “leaves spaces” where the audience can fill in something of their own, resulting in a personal connection with the work. (”They make the images. We give them flesh.”)
This naturally makes you feel connected to the author, and want to personalize that. It probably also means that when the author is revealed as an ass about something, the reaction is more personal because the audience member has already felt connected. (This must be scary from the author’s perspective–all these people feeling a connection with you that you’ve never met–and many of them probably ‘connecting’ to something that you didn’t put in the book.)
For the record, I loved Solitaire, and your personal comments here are only making me more likely to grab the next novel whenever it comes out.
Will, I know where you’re coming from. It looks to me like you’ve got it bad because you are passionate about both capital-A Art, and your ideals, and sometimes those things pull you in different directions at the same time. But hey, isn’t dealing with that sort of thing what life is all about? It’s got to be kind of great that after knowing yourself as long as you have, that sometimes you can still surprise you.
April 11th, 2006 at 3:47 pm
for me, as an author not many have met, I do not mind if people’s illusions are shattered by my blogsite.We do the same thing to life, spirit, each other; and build our ideas about people and things into part of our mental realitiy; often far from the factual reality.For anyone who thinks I must be ‘ something’ or ’special’ because of my subject matter; i usually fart in front of them if I can, or otherwise shatter their ideas about me.I am strict on matters of ‘ medicine’ and the unchanging nature of spiritual power and protocol, but do not mind in the least for people to see my ‘human failings’ as I know and try to help people understand that the moments of brilliance, spiritual connectedness, great medicine powers, the grandeur of life; are something that elevates us above our human failings, or come because we have transcended them.Any moments of inspiration and pure creativity come from a higher part of self that seems almost outside of their self; until we finally reside permanently in a higher plane of our own total consciousness.
April 12th, 2006 at 12:52 am
Chris, thanks for your kind words about Solitaire.
I don’t mind whatever kind of connection readers make with the work–that’s such a personal thing, and I think it’s part of the writer’s job to leave the spaces wide open enough that readers can connect in their way, rather than forcing them to connect in mine.
Responding to some of the other comments here, I’m not so worried about what’s real and what isn’t, regarding my relationship with people who read my stuff. People are allowed to have their own response to the work, and I have no need to reinforce or puncture their notions. And I think that for me it’s not about politics, per se. I won’t read Orson Scott Card again because he’s basically said that “my kind” are anathema and a plague upon the beauty of God’s earth (not a direct quote, but not, i think, too much of an exaggeration). That kind of virulent, global, blanket redaction of my humanity is not something I’m willing to let into my reading life, even at some remove. But Powers is one of my favorite writers and favorite people personally, and he’s a rabid Republican as well as Catholic. I’m not sure he entirely approves of my choices, but I know he likes *me*, and that’s an ambivalence I can live with. We’re all ambivalent in our own ways. I suppose that for me, vis a vis other writers, it comes down to a question of the particular versus the general. We can agree to disagree on particulars, but what is there to say when someone else posits that “all x are y”?
Enjoying the discussion.
Kelley
April 12th, 2006 at 12:16 pm
After my previous posts, I went and read Joel discussing Bruce. I was not appalled by Joel’s principles. I was appalled by his expression of them. I can be friendly with people of just about any belief, excepting two:
1. The belief in imposing their beliefs on others.
2. The belief that personal insults are an acceptable substitute for reason.
June 7th, 2006 at 7:34 pm
Normally, I would be polite enough not to comment on someone else’s blog where they are talking about me, but, since I seem to have lost you as a customer anyway, I risk little if I act on the hope that you might forgive an unwelcome intrusion.
Oddly enough, my biggest problem with the modest publicity I enjoy these days, is not people objecting to pro-Christian messages slipped into stories written after my conversion (as you say, none are published yet), but to people objecting to utterly imaginary pro-Christian messages they see in stories I wrote back when I was an ardent, proselytizing, vehement anti-Christian.
My speculation is that these biased readers are detecting the difference between my fantasy and my science fiction. Science Fiction, by its very nature, addresses the virtue of reason, usually positively. The hero in most SF staples is the Rational Man. Fantasy, by its nature, addresses the emotional, the dreamlike, the mystical, the mythical. The hero acts on faith, on magic: this has a Christian flavor to it, even in the hands of non-Christian writers.
I certainly did not make matters any easier for readers eagerly hunting for Christian messages, by mingling Christian archangels among my Norse and Greek gods, and by minimizing the footprint of my own strongly anti-Christian viewpoint. I was writing a story, not a screed.
Now, having said that, let me also express my complete sympathy for your feeling that its not worth your time to read my books further. I understand, believe me! There are authors I esteemed in my youth, who, when I found they had opinions on politics or philosophy markedly different from my own, it diminished my enjoyment of their books. In me, I do not think this is a good thing: I would even call it a flaw, because I am cutting myself off from something I enjoy to no good purpose.
(I am not here making any judgment about you. For you, it might be an economically rational decision: the chance that I will introduce a notion in my books you find antithetical to your tastes and sense of life is higher if we are in opposite camps than in harmonious ones. I refuse to speculate about the wisdom of your situation, since I don’t know you.)
But one thing that happened to me before my conversion, is that I began to realize that a number of writers and thinkers whose powers of observation, whose command of reason I respected, were members of this irrational near-Eastern cult called Christianity. I found that remarkable. How could reasonable, intelligent, educated, civilized men take seriously this tissue of nonsense and fraud?
I assumed at the time that it was due to a weakness in their moral character; that is the same assumption you have made of me. It would be ironic, if not ungallant, of me to raise a voice in my own defense at this point, don’t you agree?
What goes around, as they say, comes around.
Later I reversed that decision. I had the choice between lowering my respect for those men or raising my respect for their quaint cult. I reluctantly chose the second, urged on by my reading of history and philosophy. (Please understand I have an abnormal hatred of modern philosophers, and a great love for ancient ones, particularly the Roman Stoics.) The advantage of this choice was a net gain in the number of authors open to me. Even though I disagreed with their (irrational) beliefs, their common sense, their humanity, were more in keeping with my view of the world than that of my own fellow atheists.
I am sorry I lost your respect, but let us have no hard feelings between us. If you do ever decide to take up reading my books again, I will warn you in all candor that I do plan to introduce a Christian theme into at least one of the four books I am planning: but my prayer is that I can do so subtly enough so as not to detract from the enjoyment of my patrons who are not of my faith—I am an entertainer, not a preacher. My purpose is to tell a story. If I want to convince someone of the truth or falsehood of a proposition, I will write an essay, which is an honest and straightforward attempt to convince by means of logic. To convince by means of story-telling is a matter of doubtful honesty, doubtful effectiveness.
The other three books I am planning should be Christianity-free. Perhaps I can use a warning label.
Yours truly, John C. Wright
June 7th, 2006 at 11:11 pm
Your comments are certainly welcome John. Especially since they are a great deal more civilized than you could be justified in being.
For the record, you haven’t lost me as a customer, you’re just working uphill at this point–you got a whole lot of points with the Golden Age books, and certainly didn’t lose any of them with Everness or Orphans. Any bias I have developed hasn’t overcome that positive impression, it’s just a taken the edge off of it.
I did try to be careful to draw the distinction between what I see in your published works, and my concerns about future ones. It’s entirely possible that those concerns will be pointless and that I will continue to enjoy your new books as much as (or more than) the exant ones.
As for your introducing Christian themes in some new works, well that’s not a necessarily meaningful one way or the other in terms of the quality of the books. If you succeed in your aim telling a story that taps into those themes, but without being a preacher, then more power to you. My worries are all about the lines between parable and homily. (I think I did point out genre authors who do that kind of thematic work regularly who produce excellent books and avoid the proselytizing trap, so it should be clear that my rabid athiesm doesn’t completely overrule my aesthetics.)
What I wonder about, though, and I would be delighted to hear your thoughts on, is this whole question of perception of the artist versus perception of the art–particularly since I assume you’ve been on the artist end of this more than once since your conversion.
You say “there are authors I esteemed in my youth, who, when I found they had opinions on politics or philosophy markedly different from my own, it diminished my enjoyment of their books.” So here we are agreed this effect exists–a common starting ground!
I suspect that people are generally predisposed in favour of artists about whom they know nothing, except that their work was enjoyable/challenging/revelatory/whatever. I suspect that this arises from a combination of imagining artists whose works we enjoy as being “like us” or generally agreeing with our positions, with what Kelly describes upthread as the “desire to connect”. I further suspect that finding out that these natural ideas about the artist conflict with fact results in a disproportionate level of disappointment or disapproval, and that this naturally gets splashed onto the perceptions of the work.
You go on to say “In me, I do not think this is a good thing: I would even call it a flaw, because I am cutting myself off from something I enjoy to no good purpose.” I think we’re on common ground here, too. In fact, if you read the first paragraph of my initial post, you’ll see that I start by saying essentially “I’ve noticed that I do this thing, and I don’t think it makes rational sense–let’s explore why that might be.” That exploration is what I’ve been doing–trying to figure out how and why this bias thing happens, and whether or not I should do something about it.
The other aspect of this that interests me is the question of the availability of knowledge, in particular that availability now that the internet brings us all closer together. (This is manifestly true, since it has got you and I into a discussion
)
I was looking for information about you (as I had so enjoyed the Golden Age books) which lead to my reading about your conversion in various articles and interviews. The internet means I could find that stuff immediately, but even in the “olden days” it would have happened eventually–I’d notice your name in a Locus interview and stop to read it because I had liked those books, or whatever.
So, from my perspective, I either need to stop seeking information on authors I enjoy (or, at least, need to make a very focused effort to seek only information on their art), or else I need to deal with the fact that sometimes what I find will not sit well with me, and may cause me to be biased. I’m definitely leaning towards the later option, I am not willing to give up the positive artist knowledge experience in order to miss the negative one. Which leaves me with the question of how to deal with that bias. I’m not sure yet, but I’m starting to think I just learn to live with it. I still feel like I should “bend over backwards” mentally to avoid the bias, but on the other hand it’s not like there’s enough time to read all the good stuff anyway.
I’m curious about your perspective–surely you’ve developed some thoughts on the whole “people knowing about the artist” thing from both the perspective of the audience, and from the perspective of the author (in both cases where the readers react positively and negatively). I’m especially interested in how, if at all, these things influence your decisions about what aspects of yourself to “put out there”–aside from those that are inherent in the art, obviously.
June 8th, 2006 at 1:22 pm
My dear sir,
If you are curious about my thoughts on the matter, I am flattered, and would be happy to bore you to tears with them. I used to write editorials for the newspaper, where my editor would actually pay me to bloviate: there is nothing better. So get ready for a long letter. (I may break it into parts, so that your comments box does not explode.)
We can analyze the question into several closely-related questions: First, there is what we can call the “shut up and sing” question. There are two sides, the customer’s side and the vendor’s side. From the customer’s side, what is the wise and moral thing to do when we find an entertainer we like, whose personal opinions or lifestyle are repugnant to us? From the vendor’s side, what is the wise and moral thing to do when it is brought to our notice that we are losing customers due to a public expression of personal opinion?
Second, there is the question of auctorial opinions influencing his writing. We can call this the “editorial” question. This is slightly different from the “shut up and sing” question: the first question is about an entertainer expressing opinions not inside his work of art, such as in an interview, or a comment a singer makes not in a song lyric. The second question is about author’s opinions inside the work itself, part of the work.
Third there is the question of respect. When you find out an author is a member of some hated group of subhuman Morlocks, Catholics or Republicans or Homosexuals or Jews, how can you continue to admire their work? How can you enjoy their work if you don’t admire it?
First question first. Several of your posters above have called for toleration: Jews should not interpret PASSION OF CHRIST as being anti-Semitic; Catholics should dismiss DAVINCI CODE as being merely an illuminati-type thriller; Republicans should listen to the Dixie Chicks and not worry about the ladies’ politics, and so on. It would be great if it could work.
This merely depends on your spirit. My spirit is a harsh and intolerant one and so I have difficulty being entertained by authors I regard as enemies of humanity.
(A personal aside: I hope it will amuse you to learn that much of this righteous zeal in me has been ameliorated since my conversion. I am not saying there are not intolerant Christian zealots: I am merely saying that I personally was much more of an intolerant zealot back when I was an atheist.)
This is not necessarily a choice in my hands: whether I want it or not, it robs the book of some of its savor. It is my entertainment dollar, after all, and the world has no lack of entertainers eager to compete for it. So if one has an intolerant spirit, the number of books one will tolerate is less than if one is tolerant. That is merely the way the world is put together. If you can find an author who does not answer questions about his religion in public, and his books are just as good as mine, why not patronize him?
If you have trouble finding good books, though, the cost-benefit analysis changes. I have a friend who will not listen to Wagner because of the composers anti-Semitism. All the glories, all the beauty of the Ring operas, are simply lost to him. He is cheating himself of one of the sublime beauties of the world.
So, to be candid, I use a sliding scale. I try to be more tolerant of the opinions of great writers than good ones, because the reward of reading them is greater. Back when as I was an atheist, I could read Milton’s PARADISE LOST with greatest pleasure, because it is a great book, but I did not feel any loss for being utterly incurious about, say, the LEFT BEHIND series, which are pulp.
Also, I am aware that authors are merely beasts of burden for muses that they do not understand. Read Tolstoy’s WAR AND PEACE. It is a work of genius. Then read his essay on history. It is idiotic. We writers are donkeys carrying mail down from Mount Parnassus. If done right, the work takes on a life of its own. You can befriend a boy without being friends with a boy’s mother; in the same way, you can befriend an author’s work without befriending the author. His personality does not necessarily go into the work, any more than a mother’s personality goes into her child.
**
Second question: editorializing. There is a slightly different calculus for when the author’s opinions influence the book, and spill over into editorial. I will not pretend that I do not editorialize in my books, but, unlike some, I try to keep it to a minimum, because I regard it as unprofessional behavior, and, out of a sense of fairness, I try to give the opinion with which I disagree some space to appear in the mouth of one character or another. (This has led some reviewers to rather bizarre conclusions about my personal opinions. The idea that a philosopher or a lawyer would has respect for arguments with which he disagrees is unknown to them.)
Some authors editorialize blatantly: let me use Robert Heinlein and Ayn Rand as examples.
Rand is preaching a message, and she does so with unparalleled emphasis, and to the degree that it detracts from her story-telling ability. I will not say that no one enjoys the thirty-page long speech on philosophy given by John Galt at the end of the book: but I will say that no one enjoys that speech who is not reading it for its value as a piece of polemic, not as a piece of story-telling. Does that distinction make sense? Sometimes I am in the mood to hear a sermon or a stemwinder, but only when it is on a theme or supporting a party I am already disposed to like. Some authors write sermons: more power to them. But they are only writing for their congregation, not for the rest of us, and we are excluded from the enjoyment.
Likewise with Robert Heinlein. I have been rereading some of his juvenile books, where he does not preach his peculiar sexual libertarianism, and have found them perfectly enjoyable. But when I tried to re-read GLORY ROAD recently, I found the preaching intrusive and annoying.
My attitude toward preaching in books is that the author should make his intentions clear on the first page. I was once offended by a rather well done comic book (or do we call them ‘graphic novels’ now?) where, after perhaps ten issues of thrilling intrigue, adventure, and supernatural mystery, the author decided to waste ten pages on a screed denouncing a political figure I admired as the antichrist. It had no purpose, no plot function, it was merely the author giving us his highly-emotional opinion. As a reader, I felt betrayed. I had been ambushed. I had given this fellow my entertainment dollar in return for entertainment: as if I had invited a clown to my house to amuse my children, but instead watching him bring out a soapbox, and give a speech about bimetallism or the Caledonian War.
The final question is about respect. To a degree, there is a psychological mechanism where all readers read into their favorite characters their own opinions and attitudes and, yes, tastes in music. One loses sympathy for heroes whose opinions are discovered to controvert one’s own. As a youth, I was shocked to find out, for example, that James Bond does not like the Beatles (he says so in GOLDFINGER). There is a website somewhere (http://www.adherents.com/lit/comics/comic_book_religion.html) that tries to figure out the faith and denomination of various superheroes. Personally, I think this inquiry is unsafe. It is like asking which political party Captain America supports: as a symbol, patriots of both parties are supposed to be able to read into Cap their highest and most cherished ideals.
To have respect for a position one disagrees with is a sign of a philosophical spirit. Not everyone can be a philosopher, some lack the inclination, some lack the patience. It is particularly difficult for a man of stern and rationalistic character to generate respect for a religion that seems, on good authority, to be blatantly irrational. It is quite easy to pretend that the followers of that faith must be ignorant or possessed of debased moral character, cowards or fools. But that is merely a question of evidence: a candid inquiry into the moral character of the characters one meets in life will tell you whether there is any statistical distribution of one personality type or another aligned with various philosophies or world-views.
The evidence I have seen inclines me to neutrality. I expect to find foolish and wise, base and noble, both on my side and on the side of the enemy. Since I switched sides when the rational evidence demanded it (despite my own preferences) I can attest that allegiance to one philosophy or another has no fixed proportion to personality characteristics or moral superiority. I was an honest man when I was an atheist, so I know there are honest atheists: I am an honest man now that I am a Christian, so I know there are honest Christians.
I suppose there may be cosmopolitan Nazis and philanthropic Aztecs as well, but this seems like it should be less likely, and so I do not dismiss the notion entirely that certain philosophies encourage certain personality types.
From the author’s side of the whole respect issue, I find that my economic self-interest (which inclines me to avoid alienating my beloved audience) is sometimes at odds with my natural honesty. Frankly, I do not care to be less than frank. I am a man first, after all, and an author second, and men are not afraid to say what they think.
But, unfortunately, shooting off one’s mouth will often shoot oneself in the foot. I answered a single simple question about my background during a single interview, and I had no idea that people would take notice or make much of it. I should not have been surprised. Some people suffer from a hellish hatred for religion, and they can only explain its universality it is by attributing to the human race a universal weakness of the mind. Such ideas tempt a man to lonely pride. That pride inclines them to be sensitive to any mention of religion, which they regard with the same distaste that a doctor regards a pestilence.
The matter is made more complex by the fact that Christians are under the Great Commission: we have actually been ordered by our Boss to preach to all living creatures. I am happy to obey my Master’s orders in my private life, but my relationship with you, my dear sir, is a professional one: I am a writer and you are a patron. My employer, if you want to put it that way. I am in the same shoes as the guy who cuts your hair or pours you a drink in a bar. If the barber or a barkeeper wants to strike up a conversation with the customer, that’s fine and dandy, but the burden is on him to keep the conversation polite and neutral. He should not use the opportunity to sell you aluminum siding, or sell you his religion.
Yours truly, John C. Wright
June 8th, 2006 at 2:14 pm
Meta-Note to John & everyone: for some reason my comment spam system just tried to eat John’s post, which I think resulted in them appearing out of order. For ease of reading, I’ve tried to edit them into one correctly ordered posts. It’s possible I’ve introduced some problem with the editing, and if so I will correct it as soon as he lets me know. My actual responses are to follow.