Is there a question beneath this question from this week's questioner? Is the questioner thinking "well, i don't have innate talent, so how can I ever be a brilliant writer?" I think that's probably the reason for the question. Questioner, if you've been in SC long enough, you know I love giving advice, as if i know anything. (Sorry.) But i do know this: The person who stops loses. Keep going on the assumption that you DO have talent, because maybe you do! Keep writing as long as you enjoy it, and keep believing that what you are doing is worthwhile, because it is. Keep knowing that what you make is your life's purpose. You are here to create. And in that way, you do have talent, because we all have the ability to create when we are born. From your question, it seems you are reading a lot and writing a lot--so you are already on the perfect track. Whether or not some external judge will one day deem your work "brilliant" is something you cannot know. Tastes change. People have different ideas of what is worthy to read, of what words show brilliance. There are some very famous poets out there right now, today, making some very big bucks off of poetry i think is terrible and other people think is wondrous. Talent helps! Of course, it does. But perseverance wins. Just be that kind of winner, the person who doesn't give up--the person who doesn't stop doing what they love to do because of those outside voices telling them they don't have the talent. You probably have a lot of talent, and if you don't, keep going anyway. This is your one life. Why not spend it doing what you love?
Sheesh I just love your brain. I love this, what you wrote here. The other thing is to allow ourselves to suck at things. I feel like we live in a culture where everyone who tries anything has to be "brilliant" at it, right away, as if born to it. The struggle is beautiful, too.
Yes, totally! And sometimes, it's nice to just be okay with what you're doing, even though you suck at it--and not struggle. I'm taking a pottery class right now and each thing I make is so lopsided and pocked--my pieces look exactly like the ones my kids used to make in kindergarten. But I sort of love them! (I love your brain, too.)
So great to do pottery! It’s good for the brain to use the hands to make stuff…it makes me wish we had live and in person art nights at some giant studio.
Lovely comment, Mary. What one person finds brilliant, another may find befuddling! I do this with the Booker prizewinners and some short story comp winners - wonder what's so great and is it just the 'gimmick' that caught the eye, or worse, the 'I'm so intelligent, I can understand it' judge!? And group-thinkers who say: Yes, yes, me too, I'm smart. ... I read quite randomly found, mainly indie-published, novels. They'll probably never become best-sellers because of how they're marketed, but I appreciate the writer for writing it, and for not giving up. ...I just wish they'd all proofread properly!!! Especially the third book of trilogies where I notice this gets sloppy.
Thank you, Annie. Your comment about indie-published novels that you randomly find reminded of the days before the internet, when finding out about new books wasn't so easy. I used to love browsing a library shelf, looking for something to read and taking home books I'd never heard of. I used to find some real gems that way.
Why did this bring tears to my eyes? Maybe because I come from plain, uncultured stock who seemed as creatively talented as a blank VHS tape. Also probably because what you say is true and real and loving and comes from that soft spot only lots of life can yield. Thank you for it.
Brooke: My first husband once told me with confidence that I was uncultured. (He also thought me poorly educated--well, we are not married anymore.) So i may know how you feel, though I can't say for sure. Talent, creativity, making things for the love of making them, living without judgment, knowing my life's purpose--these took me most of my life to discover. You, too, are the living embodiment of creativity, and i hope for you a life of knowing that where you came from doesn't make any difference. You were born creative, born to be creative, born to be your own beautiful self. xo
Took a screenshot of this twice: once for my heart and once for my phone when the heart forgets. Maybe I'll follow your lead and quietly divorce some of those persistent voices of shame as well, most of which regenerate from within. You're so right and I'm so crazy thankful for you and your wisdom.
If Mary is right and there's a question under the question, you're not alone! I fret about this in a pretty reliable, recognizable, almost boring, definitely embarrassing cycle. Don't we all? Wouldn't it be a little careless never to fret about it? I bet even Shakespeare fretted about it. He def' seems like the type. Anyway, as M says, "You're here to create." :) Love that!
I was so moved by everything you outlined here George, but especially by this: “It is, really, about heart; about a human being looking at life through her own lens and thinking and feeling it through and then making something – even something very simple – that says something new and truthful – something that reaches out to the reader in a spirit of commiseration”. It might sound simplistic, but it’s not. The way I interpret this is, to be a good (talented) writer, one must remain open, attentive, curious and compassionate, but not just in art, but in life! In other words, the learning we do outside of working on our craft is just as important. What kind of human beings we are, will inevitably trickle into our writing? I don’t know, but I feel like I never stop learning. And I like it that way. I get excited about learning, just as much as I get excited when I experiment with writing on the page. Without the joy in life, I would have a hard time finding joy in my writing, and tapping into that honesty that I hope can touch a reader.
I was also struck by George's comment about heart. I think its one thing that we can all improve with age, if we stay open and it is something we all have, even the Tin Man.
These sentences, which speak to the heart underneath, which it is worth the work of our lives, I believe, to convey, were some of my favorites in this beautiful letter too.
Reminds one of Nabokov getting his dad to publish his book of poems when he was 15. The reviews were not kind--Nabokov's teacher actually got a copy and skewered the poems in class.
All his father's friends told him that his son certainly had no future in literature.
On point with Hardy, and maybe a better example. He soooooooo wanted to be known as a poet! And everybody was like, “Okay, whatever Tom.”
Though his story/writing style is a little dated now (hard to imagine a current 20-something picking up Return of The Native and being “enthralled”), his talent, that thing George speaks of his this post, was his astonishing ability to channel the natural world and make it act as psychic/emotional backdrop for his characters. Tess and Jude still stun on this level, and that ending of her in Stonehenge was something that stuck in my brain a long time.
I’ve been told that Hardy is now ‘unreachable’. Too much time passed and his texts have aged beyond the reach/tastes of modern young minds. Even Jude/Tess.
I love Hardy too. The context was a school teacher who had been teaching Hardy to 15-years olds for years. Hardy always went down very well … and then suddenly, his 15-year olds started objecting. So he said it was now ‘unteachable’ - which autocorrect garbled without me noticing. Possibly due to differently wired brains which want faster-paced narratives?
Quite possibly, sadly. But I don’t remember ‘loving’ the books that teachers fed us in English class. I learned lines, I rebelled against the prescribed texts and then later gradually the meaning seeped inside, the beauty of those words kept me company.
Hardy is a favourite of mine. The juxtaposing of the new technology against nature, and the humans being in their stories of pain. I once wrote an article about a Tess I met in journalism school, who fell pregnant and left after feeling shame by her peers and teachers for being young, with child, and single. Reading Hardy now crushes time.
I love Hardy. One of the best, and enduring, of the 19th century novelist, IMHO. I regularly taught Jude the Obscure in my AP Literature class in a low-income Bronx high school. Students liked it. Reads like a soap opera, in some respects (she loves him, but he loves another, etc.). And they could relate to Jude's educational/career ambitions and the obstacles he faced, the walls of Oxford being quite analogous to the iron fence around Fordham across from our building. Timeless themes of love and class, and psychologically brilliant (and tragic) for anytime.
I agree with you. But apparently (according to my teacher friend) Hardy is no longer accessible to 15-year-olds. Something to do with the way their brains are wired.
Well, I did only teach it (Jude, mainly) to my 11th grade AP Literature students, who were fairly strong readers and highly motivated, but they enjoyed it and had no trouble understanding it. It would have been too difficult for my regular 10th grade ELA students, many of whom were also non-native speakers and/or remedial readers. I doubt it has anything to do with "brain wiring"; it's more about reading level. I will say that reading challenging older texts like Jude really helps students become stronger, college-level readers overall, but it's often something students have to build up to.
I’m glad you think so. But this was a private school with privileged kids whose teacher had been doing Hardy with his 15 year olds for many years … and then seemingly started to find that the majority could no longer connect with it. I’ll happily take your more positive experience,
Ironically, that iconic opening to Lolita is pure poetry! "Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul..." Apparently Nabokov was much more successful at writing poetry when he disguised it as prose. We used to recite the opening to Lolita as a vocal exercise when I was in theater classes, and nothing feels more delightful on the palette than beautifully crafted poetry. I loved reciting it. "Taking a trip of three steps down the palette to tap at three on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta." Gives me chills!
See my review of Nabakov on Goodreads. A great writer who claimed he never intended to defend a pedophile but he - hopefully - unwittingly did. Alice Munro's pedo husband called his step-daughter Lolita while sexually abusing her. Writers also have a responsibility to be clear about their intentions. I wouldn't ban him but he needs to be viewed in the context of sexual groomers and abusers who have used the text as a defense, and victims of abuse who don't feel seen in that text at all. The real girl's story is yet to be told.
The central point of Pitzer's very well-researched and well-reasoned argument is that far from ignoring history "for art's sake", Nabokov weaves history into his fiction so deeply and intricately as to make his theme almost unrecognizable. She makes a persuasive and fascinating parallel with Solzhenitsyn and posits that the two men were writing about the same topic from different directions: whereas Solzhenitsyn was inside the Gulag system and writing about IMPRISONMENT, Nabokov was on the outside and writing about ESCAPE.
Pitzer shows that nearly every one of Nabokov's major characters in his most famous works have been profoundly and irrevocably damaged by history, by prison camps, work camps, war, displacement, eternal refugees...
As per Lolita, Pitzer quite convincingly traces the origins of that novel to Nabokov's lifelong fascination with the "Wandering Jew" mythos (Vera was Jewish, and they narrowly escaped Berlin and Paris). She shows examples of this in his earlier writing and how he toyed with this theme for many years before it found its final form in Lolita. Through Pitzer's reading, although effectively hidden (the word 'jew' never appears in Lolita), it becomes clear that not only is H.H. Jewish, but that HE WITNESSED THE HOLOCAUST.
I remember realizing this on my third (!) read through the novel and having to stop and put the book down. Nabokov is not asking us to have sympathy with a pedophile or asking us to condone its active practice. He is imploring us to think about larger arcs of history and how those horrific forces (behind the Gulag, behind the Holocaust) can be impacted upon individuals who in turn take their damaged self out into the world and cause further damage.
The book was written in the early 50s and published in 1955. As told by Andrea Skinner, abuse from Monroe's husband started in 1976. To hold Nabokov accountable for future actions of others is...a question that would be interesting to put to George.
How much should an author be "held responsible" for what they write? How much do they owe readers a full explanation of their "intentions"? Does an author find it necessary (or not) to correct a reader's interpretation if it is "wrong" or if the text has been used as a "defense" or "justification" for some otherwise unjustifiable behavior?
Interesting! I tend to view Lolita as primarily a trenchant criticism of America at the time. I can see where it might also serve as a comment about the Holocaust, but it's very well disguised if it is Given the subject matter, a little more clarity would have been welcomed.
I really appreciate this discussion. Although I wouldn't have been able to articulate it as clearly and intelligently as you, and I haven't done the research, I've always felt it intuitively—that Lolita is not about condoning pedophilia, but about the psychology of the pedophile. I've always felt that Nabokov was giving us a damaged character, and that he was exploring the mind of such a person—how that person would justify his reprehensible behavior, how he would describe his prey. Nabokov was true to the mindset of Humbert Humbert. When it's said that Delores' experience at the hands of H.H. doesn't ring true to a real victim's experience, that's because it's being told by an unreliable narrator who has to romanticize his feelings for Delores in order to justify them to himself. Nabokov brilliantly embodies his narrator.
Again thank you for this. You've really got me thinking about the responsibility of authors to their readers. Can Munro's husband's acts really be blamed, even partially, on Vladimir Nabokov? As if the reading of Lolita would be the catalyst for his molesting his step-daughter? I'd love to hear what George might say about this idea of responsibility, of authors having to explain/justify their intentions, take responsibility for how their work might impact or motivate someone who is already — obviously — deviant, as in Munro's case. Perhaps you should send this question in to Office Hours.
Thanks, Saige. I by no means condone pedophilia. And that image of Alice Munro's husband, well, that's just gross. I was responding to the reference to Nabokov's failed poetry, and yet—the poetics of his prose. I'm sure you realize that, but I wanted to be clear. Perhaps you are saying it is just wrong across the board to admire his work for any reason at all. I will think long and hard about that.
By the way, there's a podcast called, simply, "The Lolita Podcast," which deep-dives into the implications of the book Lolita, and the portrayal of Delores. It also looks at the ways in which the Lolita movies portrayed her (as a tease, a seductress, a coquette) and the abuse perpetrated upon the young actresses who played her, by the predator directors of the films. The podcast also addresses, as you say, real life victims "who don't feel seen at all" in the text.
Thank you, and no, I’m not suggesting that. He was a fine writer but in my view he failed in that one respect. I see it as part of a social fail in a broader context. Writers often succeed at showing the perspective of characters who cause harm rather than the characters who feel harm and the aftermath of harm. It is worth contemplating that other dimension, in my view.
My sister-in-law is an actress. One time, she said to me, "I have a ton of talent, but I'm not willing to work hard. I've noticed that the people who make it further in this business are the ones who are willing to work hard, but they aren't necessarily the most talented." This made me wonder if the ability to work hard is actually a type of talent. Maybe it's just a component that's necessary, but not sufficient for success.
She also said she had an acting teacher once tell her that talent was defined by the creative choices one makes with each line. That could be analogous to writing. The thing that I find most interesting about it, though, is that whether or not a line is delivered in a transformative way depends on the viewer. A person could be exceptionally talented in the minds of some people, but a boring hack to others.
We all want to be successful, and culturally, we've somehow equated talent with success, but I just don't think it's that simple. I think talented people go unrecognized all the time and could potentially toil in obscurity forever. Most successful writers have at least a few critics that think they're overrated or untalented.
I think recognition, money, etc. comes as the result of a conglomeration of things, one of them is "talent," which is determined by luck (the right genes, the right circumstances of birth), another is writing the right thing at the right time and getting the right attention for it (luck, again), another one is hard work--which is the only of these three things that's actually under our control. Like Elizabeth Gilbert writes in Big Magic, "[Discipline] was the only card I had to play, so I played it hard."
Thank you for this, Amy. So wise and true. I love the idea that working hard could be a kind of talent. I think it may be so! Hard work is definitely integral to being successful at creating anything worthwhile.
Thanks, Patti. I was also thinking this morning that a person could be talented in one or two aspects of writing, like dialogue, description, or plot, but have to work at the rest. I think it would be very unusual for someone to be good at everything at once, but also unusual for someone to be bad at everything at once, too. In which case, I think that means that everyone has something special to bring to the page.
Having spent many, many years trying and failing to finish my novel, I always find your thoughts on "the talent for having talent" so encouraging and hopeful. So thank you George (and wise band of Story Clubbers)... I will keep striving!
For what it's worth, I'm now completing a novel I began in 1979, 50K brain-dump words in four weeks at the Millay Colony for the Arts. I'm halfway through (and 100K words in, so there's much I'll have to cut or condense). It's the second book I started and, now, the second that still seems worth completing. I finished the first, begun in 1975, about two years ago. Keep going!
I think later is often wiser. The novel I started writing twenty five years ago was published last year and it was far better for the lapse. I do hope to turn out the next one faster however and have learned so much in the process. Don't underestimate the wisdom and experience that will seep through your writing.
I suspect that everyone is talented at something, but there isn't always a corresponding venue to share that talent with the world.
For instance, I was involved in an online writing group for a while, and some of the people in the group were brilliantly talented at engaging in humorous banter in the forums. They elevated it to an art. Some of these people never had success in publishing anything (or hadn't at the time). If there was some kind of market for forum banter, their work might have been in high demand. As it is, I'll be one of the few to have had the pleasure of appreciating their talent.
Oh, I love this thought, and I agree with you 100%. I love that image, too, of the people offering themselves - their talents, their true selves - in this way. What joy! So fun! It is so good to name these gifts.
I'm reminded of this comment from the end of "George Saunders: On Story" (I think we've linked to it before, but it's well worth watching again):
...you go out in the world, see what it is. It's just as fresh, now, as it was when you were eighteen--go out there and experience it. Come back in befuddled, and *then* try. You know--I don't care how old you are. Do something beautiful.
Thanks for linking this, because in it George reminded us to be less controlling with the story. I’m too hung up on what I want mine to be about, and that causes me to miss deeper signals. I’m not sure how many times and ways I need to hear that before I consistently operationalize that information. :)
Thank you Justin! A reminder to myself to re-watch this and re-watch, re-watch 'George Saunders: On Story'. A story should feel like 'the curtain's been pulled back and she's gotten a glimpse into a deeper truth.' Yes! Yes! Yes!
The last paragraph of today’s post reminded me of what James Baldwin said in The Fire Next Time. “Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death--ought to decide, indeed, to earn one's death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return.” We confront the page (or the glowing screen) with passion, don’t we.
A couple of music analogy thoughts. First, according to studies, music aptitude seems to be inherited, and second, a slogan: Hard work tops talent if talent doesn't work hard.
Talent comes in many flavors. A talent for legal reports, clear, concise, persuasive, is as true a talent as writing a good novel. I let myself be persuaded years ago that I'd never get published again, I was a flash in the pan. But today I write every day, am getting published in places that please me, and am happy when I break through yet another tiny barrier into something that deepens my understanding of life, of lives, of creatures, of time.
Twenty-some years ago when I was doing an MFA in NYC, George visited for a discussion with one of our most brilliant professors. In the course of that, he said, “Style is just what you do to keep from sucking,” which got a big laugh. I’ve never forgotten it. But it’s helpful to read her how George assigns an aspect of talent to this deceptively simple, amusing statement; Malcolm Gladwell did the same thing, kinda, in an essay about athletes: those who found success were able to undertake criticism or self analysis and improve rather than sulk and dig in their heels. The ability to get past ourselves, that’s also a talent.
Karen Russell put the idea to me slightly differently: “if you’ve got big muscles, wear a muscle shirt.” Flaunt what you’ve got to flaunt and hide what you don’t want people to see.
This brilliant professor of mine also wrote to me after one workshop submission: “your vexing obstacle is your talent.” At the time I didn’t understand what he meant, and he offered nothing being this slaying statement. Now, after twenty more years of work on the craft, I do get it, and have come to see talent and brilliance (or genius) as two totally different things, maybe not even related. I’ve always had this thing called talent, “natural talent” teachers have told me my whole life, but nothing even remotely like brilliance. Nor genius. It’s taken a couple of decades of writing and struggling and living, and some healthy ego death, for me to understand what my professor meant. Which was “what, if anything, did I actually have to say? What was I trying to contribute?” Still working on that one. And reading everything George writes helps a whole lot.
Thank you so much for sharing this Mike - I completely relate: life has said your professor's statement to me in various ways. But I have not got as far along as you share here in my understanding of talent, brilliance. Interestingly your comment and George's wisdom are also showing me that maybe I have been scared of this talent thing. And like most fears, it really isn't as big a deal as I worried about at all. It simply is. The work however is grand and vast as I want it to be. Which is always fantastic news!
Pivoting from the sleepy reception is extremely powerful. I think often of George’s story of trying out Hemingway mountain and Kerouac mountain, and how, after so much pivoting, you learn to accept the mind as it is, however goofy or serious. This is a lifetime of work (and sensitivity and awareness).
I recall Prof Bill Manhire saying, when guiding us during the MA in CW at the International Institute of Modern Letters, that writing is rather like cooking. Two different people can follow the same recipe and one produces something amazing, succulent, out-of-this-world, and that person is a chef. The other produces something nice and tasty but not memorable. They both used the same ingredients, followed the recipe, but one used that other special magical ingredient and you can't teach that.
In my own case I see my talent as pain converted into something meaningful. I am a better writer because I have the empathy acquired from seeking the light out of some difficult, tragic, experiences. My talent is trauma converted. I empathise with characters who are different to myself, I find their worlds, I transport them out.
At the risk of repeating the same thing in a different way, wrestling with my own difficult experiences has enabled me to empathise with characters and to find meaning in story, and to convey that to others.
Don’t worry, write- sounds like the best advice ever. Art is subjective, timing is everything and external factors are always at work. We cant all be Van Gogh, some of us are going to get a break
Is there a question beneath this question from this week's questioner? Is the questioner thinking "well, i don't have innate talent, so how can I ever be a brilliant writer?" I think that's probably the reason for the question. Questioner, if you've been in SC long enough, you know I love giving advice, as if i know anything. (Sorry.) But i do know this: The person who stops loses. Keep going on the assumption that you DO have talent, because maybe you do! Keep writing as long as you enjoy it, and keep believing that what you are doing is worthwhile, because it is. Keep knowing that what you make is your life's purpose. You are here to create. And in that way, you do have talent, because we all have the ability to create when we are born. From your question, it seems you are reading a lot and writing a lot--so you are already on the perfect track. Whether or not some external judge will one day deem your work "brilliant" is something you cannot know. Tastes change. People have different ideas of what is worthy to read, of what words show brilliance. There are some very famous poets out there right now, today, making some very big bucks off of poetry i think is terrible and other people think is wondrous. Talent helps! Of course, it does. But perseverance wins. Just be that kind of winner, the person who doesn't give up--the person who doesn't stop doing what they love to do because of those outside voices telling them they don't have the talent. You probably have a lot of talent, and if you don't, keep going anyway. This is your one life. Why not spend it doing what you love?
Sheesh I just love your brain. I love this, what you wrote here. The other thing is to allow ourselves to suck at things. I feel like we live in a culture where everyone who tries anything has to be "brilliant" at it, right away, as if born to it. The struggle is beautiful, too.
Yes, totally! And sometimes, it's nice to just be okay with what you're doing, even though you suck at it--and not struggle. I'm taking a pottery class right now and each thing I make is so lopsided and pocked--my pieces look exactly like the ones my kids used to make in kindergarten. But I sort of love them! (I love your brain, too.)
So great to do pottery! It’s good for the brain to use the hands to make stuff…it makes me wish we had live and in person art nights at some giant studio.
Lovely comment, Mary. What one person finds brilliant, another may find befuddling! I do this with the Booker prizewinners and some short story comp winners - wonder what's so great and is it just the 'gimmick' that caught the eye, or worse, the 'I'm so intelligent, I can understand it' judge!? And group-thinkers who say: Yes, yes, me too, I'm smart. ... I read quite randomly found, mainly indie-published, novels. They'll probably never become best-sellers because of how they're marketed, but I appreciate the writer for writing it, and for not giving up. ...I just wish they'd all proofread properly!!! Especially the third book of trilogies where I notice this gets sloppy.
Thank you, Annie. Your comment about indie-published novels that you randomly find reminded of the days before the internet, when finding out about new books wasn't so easy. I used to love browsing a library shelf, looking for something to read and taking home books I'd never heard of. I used to find some real gems that way.
Agree. There's a lot of pressure to like certain books because of awards, attention, or Oprah or whatever.
Why did this bring tears to my eyes? Maybe because I come from plain, uncultured stock who seemed as creatively talented as a blank VHS tape. Also probably because what you say is true and real and loving and comes from that soft spot only lots of life can yield. Thank you for it.
Brooke: My first husband once told me with confidence that I was uncultured. (He also thought me poorly educated--well, we are not married anymore.) So i may know how you feel, though I can't say for sure. Talent, creativity, making things for the love of making them, living without judgment, knowing my life's purpose--these took me most of my life to discover. You, too, are the living embodiment of creativity, and i hope for you a life of knowing that where you came from doesn't make any difference. You were born creative, born to be creative, born to be your own beautiful self. xo
Took a screenshot of this twice: once for my heart and once for my phone when the heart forgets. Maybe I'll follow your lead and quietly divorce some of those persistent voices of shame as well, most of which regenerate from within. You're so right and I'm so crazy thankful for you and your wisdom.
If Mary is right and there's a question under the question, you're not alone! I fret about this in a pretty reliable, recognizable, almost boring, definitely embarrassing cycle. Don't we all? Wouldn't it be a little careless never to fret about it? I bet even Shakespeare fretted about it. He def' seems like the type. Anyway, as M says, "You're here to create." :) Love that!
Mary G, Amen!
I was so moved by everything you outlined here George, but especially by this: “It is, really, about heart; about a human being looking at life through her own lens and thinking and feeling it through and then making something – even something very simple – that says something new and truthful – something that reaches out to the reader in a spirit of commiseration”. It might sound simplistic, but it’s not. The way I interpret this is, to be a good (talented) writer, one must remain open, attentive, curious and compassionate, but not just in art, but in life! In other words, the learning we do outside of working on our craft is just as important. What kind of human beings we are, will inevitably trickle into our writing? I don’t know, but I feel like I never stop learning. And I like it that way. I get excited about learning, just as much as I get excited when I experiment with writing on the page. Without the joy in life, I would have a hard time finding joy in my writing, and tapping into that honesty that I hope can touch a reader.
I was also struck by George's comment about heart. I think its one thing that we can all improve with age, if we stay open and it is something we all have, even the Tin Man.
These sentences, which speak to the heart underneath, which it is worth the work of our lives, I believe, to convey, were some of my favorites in this beautiful letter too.
Well put, Imola.
I must be in the minority as I don't believe people or authors discover anything new to the world, only to themselves. Fortunately, this is enough!
I agree one hundred percent.
Reminds one of Nabokov getting his dad to publish his book of poems when he was 15. The reviews were not kind--Nabokov's teacher actually got a copy and skewered the poems in class.
All his father's friends told him that his son certainly had no future in literature.
That pivot to prose though.
Same with Thomas Hardy, who thought himself a poet, but was a much better novelist.
On point with Hardy, and maybe a better example. He soooooooo wanted to be known as a poet! And everybody was like, “Okay, whatever Tom.”
Though his story/writing style is a little dated now (hard to imagine a current 20-something picking up Return of The Native and being “enthralled”), his talent, that thing George speaks of his this post, was his astonishing ability to channel the natural world and make it act as psychic/emotional backdrop for his characters. Tess and Jude still stun on this level, and that ending of her in Stonehenge was something that stuck in my brain a long time.
I’ve been told that Hardy is now ‘unreachable’. Too much time passed and his texts have aged beyond the reach/tastes of modern young minds. Even Jude/Tess.
Wouldn’t mind teaching a lit class where the whole time I read “unreachable” texts to them. No escape.
Yes!!!
HA!
Nah, totally disagree. So many films are based on those tales. And the classics are still published and read, bought and borrowed.
I love Hardy too. The context was a school teacher who had been teaching Hardy to 15-years olds for years. Hardy always went down very well … and then suddenly, his 15-year olds started objecting. So he said it was now ‘unteachable’ - which autocorrect garbled without me noticing. Possibly due to differently wired brains which want faster-paced narratives?
Quite possibly, sadly. But I don’t remember ‘loving’ the books that teachers fed us in English class. I learned lines, I rebelled against the prescribed texts and then later gradually the meaning seeped inside, the beauty of those words kept me company.
Oh, I disagree with that too. Brilliant prose is brilliant prose. I go back to Hardy again and again. His understanding of humanity astounds me.
Hardy is a favourite of mine. The juxtaposing of the new technology against nature, and the humans being in their stories of pain. I once wrote an article about a Tess I met in journalism school, who fell pregnant and left after feeling shame by her peers and teachers for being young, with child, and single. Reading Hardy now crushes time.
I love Hardy. One of the best, and enduring, of the 19th century novelist, IMHO. I regularly taught Jude the Obscure in my AP Literature class in a low-income Bronx high school. Students liked it. Reads like a soap opera, in some respects (she loves him, but he loves another, etc.). And they could relate to Jude's educational/career ambitions and the obstacles he faced, the walls of Oxford being quite analogous to the iron fence around Fordham across from our building. Timeless themes of love and class, and psychologically brilliant (and tragic) for anytime.
I agree with you. But apparently (according to my teacher friend) Hardy is no longer accessible to 15-year-olds. Something to do with the way their brains are wired.
Well, I did only teach it (Jude, mainly) to my 11th grade AP Literature students, who were fairly strong readers and highly motivated, but they enjoyed it and had no trouble understanding it. It would have been too difficult for my regular 10th grade ELA students, many of whom were also non-native speakers and/or remedial readers. I doubt it has anything to do with "brain wiring"; it's more about reading level. I will say that reading challenging older texts like Jude really helps students become stronger, college-level readers overall, but it's often something students have to build up to.
I’m glad you think so. But this was a private school with privileged kids whose teacher had been doing Hardy with his 15 year olds for many years … and then seemingly started to find that the majority could no longer connect with it. I’ll happily take your more positive experience,
Ironically, that iconic opening to Lolita is pure poetry! "Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul..." Apparently Nabokov was much more successful at writing poetry when he disguised it as prose. We used to recite the opening to Lolita as a vocal exercise when I was in theater classes, and nothing feels more delightful on the palette than beautifully crafted poetry. I loved reciting it. "Taking a trip of three steps down the palette to tap at three on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta." Gives me chills!
See my review of Nabakov on Goodreads. A great writer who claimed he never intended to defend a pedophile but he - hopefully - unwittingly did. Alice Munro's pedo husband called his step-daughter Lolita while sexually abusing her. Writers also have a responsibility to be clear about their intentions. I wouldn't ban him but he needs to be viewed in the context of sexual groomers and abusers who have used the text as a defense, and victims of abuse who don't feel seen in that text at all. The real girl's story is yet to be told.
Have you read The Secret History of Vladimir Nabokov by Andrea Pitzer (2011)? It goes into some of those “intentions” you’re asking about.
I just took a peek at reviews. Intriguing.
The central point of Pitzer's very well-researched and well-reasoned argument is that far from ignoring history "for art's sake", Nabokov weaves history into his fiction so deeply and intricately as to make his theme almost unrecognizable. She makes a persuasive and fascinating parallel with Solzhenitsyn and posits that the two men were writing about the same topic from different directions: whereas Solzhenitsyn was inside the Gulag system and writing about IMPRISONMENT, Nabokov was on the outside and writing about ESCAPE.
Pitzer shows that nearly every one of Nabokov's major characters in his most famous works have been profoundly and irrevocably damaged by history, by prison camps, work camps, war, displacement, eternal refugees...
As per Lolita, Pitzer quite convincingly traces the origins of that novel to Nabokov's lifelong fascination with the "Wandering Jew" mythos (Vera was Jewish, and they narrowly escaped Berlin and Paris). She shows examples of this in his earlier writing and how he toyed with this theme for many years before it found its final form in Lolita. Through Pitzer's reading, although effectively hidden (the word 'jew' never appears in Lolita), it becomes clear that not only is H.H. Jewish, but that HE WITNESSED THE HOLOCAUST.
I remember realizing this on my third (!) read through the novel and having to stop and put the book down. Nabokov is not asking us to have sympathy with a pedophile or asking us to condone its active practice. He is imploring us to think about larger arcs of history and how those horrific forces (behind the Gulag, behind the Holocaust) can be impacted upon individuals who in turn take their damaged self out into the world and cause further damage.
The book was written in the early 50s and published in 1955. As told by Andrea Skinner, abuse from Monroe's husband started in 1976. To hold Nabokov accountable for future actions of others is...a question that would be interesting to put to George.
How much should an author be "held responsible" for what they write? How much do they owe readers a full explanation of their "intentions"? Does an author find it necessary (or not) to correct a reader's interpretation if it is "wrong" or if the text has been used as a "defense" or "justification" for some otherwise unjustifiable behavior?
Interesting! I tend to view Lolita as primarily a trenchant criticism of America at the time. I can see where it might also serve as a comment about the Holocaust, but it's very well disguised if it is Given the subject matter, a little more clarity would have been welcomed.
I really appreciate this discussion. Although I wouldn't have been able to articulate it as clearly and intelligently as you, and I haven't done the research, I've always felt it intuitively—that Lolita is not about condoning pedophilia, but about the psychology of the pedophile. I've always felt that Nabokov was giving us a damaged character, and that he was exploring the mind of such a person—how that person would justify his reprehensible behavior, how he would describe his prey. Nabokov was true to the mindset of Humbert Humbert. When it's said that Delores' experience at the hands of H.H. doesn't ring true to a real victim's experience, that's because it's being told by an unreliable narrator who has to romanticize his feelings for Delores in order to justify them to himself. Nabokov brilliantly embodies his narrator.
Again thank you for this. You've really got me thinking about the responsibility of authors to their readers. Can Munro's husband's acts really be blamed, even partially, on Vladimir Nabokov? As if the reading of Lolita would be the catalyst for his molesting his step-daughter? I'd love to hear what George might say about this idea of responsibility, of authors having to explain/justify their intentions, take responsibility for how their work might impact or motivate someone who is already — obviously — deviant, as in Munro's case. Perhaps you should send this question in to Office Hours.
Thanks, Saige. I by no means condone pedophilia. And that image of Alice Munro's husband, well, that's just gross. I was responding to the reference to Nabokov's failed poetry, and yet—the poetics of his prose. I'm sure you realize that, but I wanted to be clear. Perhaps you are saying it is just wrong across the board to admire his work for any reason at all. I will think long and hard about that.
By the way, there's a podcast called, simply, "The Lolita Podcast," which deep-dives into the implications of the book Lolita, and the portrayal of Delores. It also looks at the ways in which the Lolita movies portrayed her (as a tease, a seductress, a coquette) and the abuse perpetrated upon the young actresses who played her, by the predator directors of the films. The podcast also addresses, as you say, real life victims "who don't feel seen at all" in the text.
Thank you, and no, I’m not suggesting that. He was a fine writer but in my view he failed in that one respect. I see it as part of a social fail in a broader context. Writers often succeed at showing the perspective of characters who cause harm rather than the characters who feel harm and the aftermath of harm. It is worth contemplating that other dimension, in my view.
My sister-in-law is an actress. One time, she said to me, "I have a ton of talent, but I'm not willing to work hard. I've noticed that the people who make it further in this business are the ones who are willing to work hard, but they aren't necessarily the most talented." This made me wonder if the ability to work hard is actually a type of talent. Maybe it's just a component that's necessary, but not sufficient for success.
She also said she had an acting teacher once tell her that talent was defined by the creative choices one makes with each line. That could be analogous to writing. The thing that I find most interesting about it, though, is that whether or not a line is delivered in a transformative way depends on the viewer. A person could be exceptionally talented in the minds of some people, but a boring hack to others.
We all want to be successful, and culturally, we've somehow equated talent with success, but I just don't think it's that simple. I think talented people go unrecognized all the time and could potentially toil in obscurity forever. Most successful writers have at least a few critics that think they're overrated or untalented.
I think recognition, money, etc. comes as the result of a conglomeration of things, one of them is "talent," which is determined by luck (the right genes, the right circumstances of birth), another is writing the right thing at the right time and getting the right attention for it (luck, again), another one is hard work--which is the only of these three things that's actually under our control. Like Elizabeth Gilbert writes in Big Magic, "[Discipline] was the only card I had to play, so I played it hard."
Thank you for this, Amy. So wise and true. I love the idea that working hard could be a kind of talent. I think it may be so! Hard work is definitely integral to being successful at creating anything worthwhile.
Thanks, Patti. I was also thinking this morning that a person could be talented in one or two aspects of writing, like dialogue, description, or plot, but have to work at the rest. I think it would be very unusual for someone to be good at everything at once, but also unusual for someone to be bad at everything at once, too. In which case, I think that means that everyone has something special to bring to the page.
Having spent many, many years trying and failing to finish my novel, I always find your thoughts on "the talent for having talent" so encouraging and hopeful. So thank you George (and wise band of Story Clubbers)... I will keep striving!
For what it's worth, I'm now completing a novel I began in 1979, 50K brain-dump words in four weeks at the Millay Colony for the Arts. I'm halfway through (and 100K words in, so there's much I'll have to cut or condense). It's the second book I started and, now, the second that still seems worth completing. I finished the first, begun in 1975, about two years ago. Keep going!
I guess the old "it's never too late" adage is true. Especially since now is the only time we've got.
I think later is often wiser. The novel I started writing twenty five years ago was published last year and it was far better for the lapse. I do hope to turn out the next one faster however and have learned so much in the process. Don't underestimate the wisdom and experience that will seep through your writing.
Yes, Saige, I agree. I've become a better writer with age, for sure.
Hooray! There's hope for me!
Yes, you must!
I suspect that everyone is talented at something, but there isn't always a corresponding venue to share that talent with the world.
For instance, I was involved in an online writing group for a while, and some of the people in the group were brilliantly talented at engaging in humorous banter in the forums. They elevated it to an art. Some of these people never had success in publishing anything (or hadn't at the time). If there was some kind of market for forum banter, their work might have been in high demand. As it is, I'll be one of the few to have had the pleasure of appreciating their talent.
Oh, I love this thought, and I agree with you 100%. I love that image, too, of the people offering themselves - their talents, their true selves - in this way. What joy! So fun! It is so good to name these gifts.
I'm reminded of this comment from the end of "George Saunders: On Story" (I think we've linked to it before, but it's well worth watching again):
...you go out in the world, see what it is. It's just as fresh, now, as it was when you were eighteen--go out there and experience it. Come back in befuddled, and *then* try. You know--I don't care how old you are. Do something beautiful.
http://www.redglasspictures.com/george-saunders
Thanks for linking this, because in it George reminded us to be less controlling with the story. I’m too hung up on what I want mine to be about, and that causes me to miss deeper signals. I’m not sure how many times and ways I need to hear that before I consistently operationalize that information. :)
Thank you Justin! A reminder to myself to re-watch this and re-watch, re-watch 'George Saunders: On Story'. A story should feel like 'the curtain's been pulled back and she's gotten a glimpse into a deeper truth.' Yes! Yes! Yes!
'When you pay attention to those sentences your better nature rises up' - another perceptive line from the redglasspictures vid. So true!
The last paragraph of today’s post reminded me of what James Baldwin said in The Fire Next Time. “Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death--ought to decide, indeed, to earn one's death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return.” We confront the page (or the glowing screen) with passion, don’t we.
Such exquisite lines. Thank you for quoting them here. Sheer joy to read, I take them to heart and mind.
A couple of music analogy thoughts. First, according to studies, music aptitude seems to be inherited, and second, a slogan: Hard work tops talent if talent doesn't work hard.
Music is an interesting analogy! There was a time when it seemed the media was full of stories supporting or debunking Malcolm Gladwell's 10,000 hours rule: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2019/aug/21/practice-does-not-always-make-perfect-violinists-10000-hour-rule
(Although I believe Gladwell claims his views were often misrepresented)
Talent comes in many flavors. A talent for legal reports, clear, concise, persuasive, is as true a talent as writing a good novel. I let myself be persuaded years ago that I'd never get published again, I was a flash in the pan. But today I write every day, am getting published in places that please me, and am happy when I break through yet another tiny barrier into something that deepens my understanding of life, of lives, of creatures, of time.
Twenty-some years ago when I was doing an MFA in NYC, George visited for a discussion with one of our most brilliant professors. In the course of that, he said, “Style is just what you do to keep from sucking,” which got a big laugh. I’ve never forgotten it. But it’s helpful to read her how George assigns an aspect of talent to this deceptively simple, amusing statement; Malcolm Gladwell did the same thing, kinda, in an essay about athletes: those who found success were able to undertake criticism or self analysis and improve rather than sulk and dig in their heels. The ability to get past ourselves, that’s also a talent.
Karen Russell put the idea to me slightly differently: “if you’ve got big muscles, wear a muscle shirt.” Flaunt what you’ve got to flaunt and hide what you don’t want people to see.
This brilliant professor of mine also wrote to me after one workshop submission: “your vexing obstacle is your talent.” At the time I didn’t understand what he meant, and he offered nothing being this slaying statement. Now, after twenty more years of work on the craft, I do get it, and have come to see talent and brilliance (or genius) as two totally different things, maybe not even related. I’ve always had this thing called talent, “natural talent” teachers have told me my whole life, but nothing even remotely like brilliance. Nor genius. It’s taken a couple of decades of writing and struggling and living, and some healthy ego death, for me to understand what my professor meant. Which was “what, if anything, did I actually have to say? What was I trying to contribute?” Still working on that one. And reading everything George writes helps a whole lot.
Thank you so much for sharing this Mike - I completely relate: life has said your professor's statement to me in various ways. But I have not got as far along as you share here in my understanding of talent, brilliance. Interestingly your comment and George's wisdom are also showing me that maybe I have been scared of this talent thing. And like most fears, it really isn't as big a deal as I worried about at all. It simply is. The work however is grand and vast as I want it to be. Which is always fantastic news!
I think that’s it, really. Not that big a deal! 😄
talent vs brilliance. Now there is something fresh to ponder. Thank you.
Pivoting from the sleepy reception is extremely powerful. I think often of George’s story of trying out Hemingway mountain and Kerouac mountain, and how, after so much pivoting, you learn to accept the mind as it is, however goofy or serious. This is a lifetime of work (and sensitivity and awareness).
I recall Prof Bill Manhire saying, when guiding us during the MA in CW at the International Institute of Modern Letters, that writing is rather like cooking. Two different people can follow the same recipe and one produces something amazing, succulent, out-of-this-world, and that person is a chef. The other produces something nice and tasty but not memorable. They both used the same ingredients, followed the recipe, but one used that other special magical ingredient and you can't teach that.
In my own case I see my talent as pain converted into something meaningful. I am a better writer because I have the empathy acquired from seeking the light out of some difficult, tragic, experiences. My talent is trauma converted. I empathise with characters who are different to myself, I find their worlds, I transport them out.
At the risk of repeating the same thing in a different way, wrestling with my own difficult experiences has enabled me to empathise with characters and to find meaning in story, and to convey that to others.
Gosh, I love this Substack. This is what I needed to read today, thank you.
I was just going over “The Creative Act.” This came up: “Talent is the ability to let ideas manifest themselves through you.” Rick Rubin
Don’t worry, write- sounds like the best advice ever. Art is subjective, timing is everything and external factors are always at work. We cant all be Van Gogh, some of us are going to get a break