Last week several Facebook friends and I were commenting on the old Jayne Mansfield movie The Girl Can’t Help It (1956). Not only did it feature Jayne Mansfield but a number of popular rock ‘n roll are performers of the time in cameo parts– performers such as Little Richard, Fats Domino, and the Platters. As a draw for adults, the movie also included an appearance of songstress Julie London singing her hit “Cry Me you a River.”  I saw the film when it first came out. A few years back, when I was writing No Marriages in Heaven, I remembered this segment of the film and mentioned London and her hit in the novel's pages. Funny, how the imagination works. When the mind is in a creative mood, it will grasp at anything that pops up. The imagination pulls from many sources, even films seem long ago.

More Thoughts on Videos and Books

Musing upon Kim McDougall’s video for NO MARRIAGES IN HEAVEN, I reflected upon her photo of a gray-haired man as Dr. Fell—evidently the best photo she had to represent the black-haired character--and decided the man in the picture could well represent my character. However, as  I was writing the novel, my imagination fastened upon actor Victor Jory’s portrayal of the villainous Jeb Torrance in THE FUGITIVE KIND (a 1960 adaption of Tennessee Williams’ play ORPHEUS DESCENDING).  I also reflected that readers who had not seen the film or do not remember Jory, or even those who do, would have a somewhat different image of Dr. Fell, none really “more correct” than the others.   In other words in reading, we allow our imaginations leeway in responding to the author’s words, so that none of us pictures the same Macbeth.   Here we have another way authors and readers become collaborators. British critic John Carey provides a fine discussion of this aspect of reading in his book WHAT GOOD ARE THE ARTS?

About the Video of No Marriages in Heaven

I hope that by now you have been able to see my video on Facebook, advertising my new novel No Marriages in Heaven. Kim Dougall has done a fine job of catching the spirit of the story. Of course, she has to use copyright free photos, music, and film clips. Neither she nor I can afford to hire actors. Hence some discrepancies appear between the figures on the screen and the characters in my story. For instance, Dr. Fell has black hair in my pages but is gray-haired in the photo. Her picture of Earl Hollo is not quite a representation of  how I imagine him but close enough to be meaningful. I do not know where Kim got the film clip of Maggie before my heroine was shot, nor do I know what that the little wisp of smoke-like substance that flutters before her is , but this clip contains an figure that resembles Maggie and captures the feeling of the scene well. Hence, I recommend Kim’s work highly if you wish to have a video made. Her firm’s name is Castelane. It can found on the Internet under that name.

Writers and Readers as Collaborators, Part 2.

To Say Exactly What I Mean

Perhaps this goal can never be fully performed, since in literary criticism one is dealing with the intricacies of language and the complexities of the human mind.  But I thought a few additional comments might clarify my last post on readers and writers as collaborators.  Forgive me for drawing on one of my own works, my Civil War novel set in Kentucky I Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep, but I believe it suggests what I mean.  Jeremiah Manningham flees from the Battle of Fort Donelson. Stunned by his cowardice and the bloody horrors of war, he retires to lead a monk-like existence, brooding about his character and the nature of God.  Later he learns that Jerry Manning, a rebel guerilla, who could be his brother, has been captured by the Northern forces.  Jeremiah travels to the jail cell to conduct a makeshift communion service for Jerry, using wine and household bread. A devout man borrowed the novel from some friends to take along on a vacation. Upon returning, he told me that he had enjoyed and profoundly been moved by the novel, especially by Jeremiah’s believing that he had a heavenly ordained mission to perform. I thanked him, glad of his response.  Sometime later, without mentioning my novel, I asked my clergyman at the time whether a communion administered by an unordained celebrant would be valid. His answer was prompt and unambiguous: No.  Communion had to be administered by an ordained member of the clergy. I do not know whether he read the novel. If so, he might have seen episode as presenting a pathetic mock ritual, or, even while holding this belief, he could have been moved by Jeremiah’s good will.  A non-Christian could have read the scene with disgust, seeing the ritual as superstitious foolery. Or an atheist could have read these pages and, while not believing in the Holy Supper, could have enjoyed the scene because of what it reveals about Jeremiah’s character.  Each of these views would have validity for their particular holders. As to communion services being administered by a layman being valid, I have no certainly. But I believe God would approve of such devout emotions.   Later, at the end of the novel, when Jeremiah becomes the inheritor of the plantation, he makes a momentous decision that good-minded people today would applaud, but would it have been practicable or even beneficial in the long run during his era?  Does Jeremiah remain at the end of the novel a Jungian Holy Fool, or does he move up with Jungian ladder to become the Hero or savior figure?  I don’t know. I leave the decision to the reader. Of course, not all interpretations would be valid. If someone argued that Jeremiah was the devil in human form or an unwitting agent of the devil attempting to damn Jerry by administering an invalid service, I would shake my head. In a novel an interpretation cannot simply be superimposed upon the action. Most works of literature have pointers to suggest how certain events should be interpreted, but even sometimes skilled readers may disagree about the interpretations.  Nothing suggests that the devil is using Jeremiah to damn Jerry. 

Writers and Readers as Collaborators

Long before the controversial heyday of reader response criticism in the eighties,  I stumbled upon a variation of this idea in 1963.  I turned in a paper on George Eliot's Adam Bede to Dr. Mary Burton, our primary 19th century scholar at the University of Louisville, and received a B+. Her complaint about my paper was that I was too kind in my evaluation of Arthur Dunnithorne, the seducer of Hetty Sorrel.  Now I have never been an admirer or defender of seducers, but I felt that Dunnithorne showed ample penitence for his sin by trying to help Hetty. I was a bit confused by my professor's comment.. Of course, those were the high water mark days of the New Criticism and the idea that a complex work of literature could not be reduced to a moral or simple statement,. yet so often works of literature were analysed as though they were mathematical problems to be solved so that everyone got the same view of a character or action.  I must say that  Dr. Burton did not teach me the novel; I choose it for my term paper. But we disagreed about how one of the major characters ought to be judged. She felt him irreparable; I thought he had redeeming characteristics. (I must also mention that I haven't reread the novel; perhaps if I did so, I would agree with Dr. Burton.)  Hence, we were both allowing our subjective views  to color our understanding of a major character. It seemed to me then that neither one of us could be "proved" wrong. Our sensibilities reacted with and modified in different ways Eliot's portrayal of a character. Hence, each of us in a way was a co-creator with George Eliot. I believed thereafter in this view that situations and characters in novels could be ambiguous, and that readers could been given some leeway in their interpretations. Of course, this view cannot be applied to all characters and all novels.  Some characters are nearly 100% evil, like the Harpe brothers in my Wilderness of Tigers,  Francis Edward Sweeney, the mad butcher in my historicalEliot Ness novel Trickster, and the psychopathic country prosecutor in The Fall of the House of Spade, just to point out that I have created characters who are overwhelmingly evil and shouldn't be applauded by a sane person.. Still, most of my characters are mixtures of good and evil who can be understood in different ways by different readers. The course of action Earl Hollo, my detective, takes in No Marriages in Heaven could create different reactions in different readers. I might point out that I do not believe that all  literary interpretations are equally valid, but this is a very complex matter that perhaps I'll touch on some other day.

What to Work on Next?

A question that has my brain spinning slowly, but still slowly.  I still have a number of books in my head, but I don't know how many years I have left to complete them.  I have been planning three books on Elizabethan literature--my academic specialty--and a book on the nature of God, defending Christianity. I've been working on these for years, adding a bit to them each year.  Since more research is required for such books than for fiction, these take me longer to work on.  Besides, writing fiction is more fun  and I give more time to it.. Moreover, I'd like to write an introductory book on Shakespeare for the general reader. Of course, a number of these are out, but I'd like to do one just for the fun of doing so and to share some of my knowledge about my lifelong specialty.  Moreover, I have several novels written in long hand before computer days that I would still like to publish, as well as several unwritten ones in my head.  I spent the winter adding to my planned nonfiction works.  I plan continuing to do so through the spring, but also want to resurrect one of my early completed novels from the early sixties.  Sometimes I wish I could had a machine that would allow me to slip periodically into another dimension where time did not exist, so I could get all these planned works done.

On rereading Euripides' Suppliant Women

Last week I reread Euripdes’ Suppliant Women,  generally not considered one of his better plays, but an effective one. Like many of his dramas it is fiercely antiwar.  I cannot help remembering Kurt Vonnegut’s quip in Slaughter House Five:  That writing an antiwar novel is like writing an anti-iceberg novel. Euripides fiercely wrote against the Peloponnesian War in his plays. Yet Athens was defested and its democracy suspended temporarily,