As someone who occasionally dabbles in words, I appreciate
good writers.
Not just people who understands word choice and syntax (an important
and often undervalued skill) or the mechanics of plot, but individuals who
understand the unique power that words and stories can hold. In just a few
marks on the page, writers have the power to change lives and alter realities, create
worlds from nothing. Worlds that are very much real.
While many mediums achieve this goal, writing is uniquely
collaborative in the way it does so. Without the input of the reader, writing
does not work. The reader is imperative to the creation of a written story,
and, as such, each reader’s experience with that work will be different.
Middle-Earth would not exist without Tolkien, but neither would it exist
without readers to interpret his words and bring his world to life in their
minds.
No two readings of a novel, short story, or poem are the
same.
When a reader engages a piece of literature, they bring to
it their own experiences, their own biases, their own preconceptions. The
reader cannot divorce themselves from the context in which they are reading,
just as the words themselves cannot be divorced from the context in which they
were written. The written work, as it exists in the writer’s head, is not the
same as it exists in the reader’s head.
The true nature of the written word, any writing, is in
constant flux, existing somewhere between the intentions of the author, the
interpretation of the reader, and the context in which the words are written
and read.
Neil Gaiman understands this fact better than most.
The View from the Cheap Seats is like an extended conversation with
Gaiman, one of those discussions that ranges far from the original point, but from
which both parties emerge with a far deeper understanding of one another.
In these essays, introductions,
and speeches one is given the impression of knowing Gaiman intimately. He ruminates
on all aspects of life, from writing and art, to the power of love and death.
Rarely does he state his opinions and beliefs outright, yet they come through
loud and clear. Gaiman does not condescend to his reader by assuming that they
will share these beliefs; he is an observer, merely explaining the world as he
sees it.
Incredibly astute in these
observations, Gaiman puts things in terms that are often startlingly simple, yet
all the more profound for that simplicity. What shines through in all these
pieces is an incredible compassion for and insight into the world around him. Gaiman
understands people, what drives them, and the profound power of art and
writing.
Gaiman understands the potential
of story, and he understands the power of words. Indeed, his particular love of
writing, driven by a passion for art in all forms, is the message behind all
these works. His understanding of art and life’s intimate love affair is
unrivalled.
For those wishing to understand
the creative mind, this book is perfect. For those wishing to know that they
are not alone the world, this book is perfect. In many ways, this book is
perfect, one that everyone should read.
Read Gaiman, and be inspired.
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