I’m often asked, “Do you write novels to teach or entertain?”
The short answer is neither. A good way to explain is through an ancient Buddhist story:
A samurai, reaching forty, decided to devote the rest of his life to spiritual matters. After a difficult journey of many miles through every kind of weather, he came to a famous monastery and asked to see the sensei.
“The sensei allows each seeker to ask one question,” he was told.
When his opportunity came, the samurai asked, “Tell me, sensei, what is heaven and what is hell?”
The sensei said, “A brutish oaf like you has no right to ask such a question.”
Furious at the insult, the samurai drew his sword, cocked it, and was about to lop off a head.
The sensei held up a finger and said, “THAT is hell.”
The samurai stilled his arm and noticed what was going on inside him, tumult and rage. Yes, that was hell. An extraordinary lesson.
Then he realized, This man risked his life to teach me something. A tear of gratitude rolled down the samurai’s cheek.
The samurai held up his finger again and said, “And THAT is heaven.’
This is a superb diagram of what fiction does. Instead of offering messages or diversions, it gives readers experiences. Experiences don’t address the intellect alone--the sensei didn’t offer a lecture about how heaven and hell are inner states of this world, not the next one. Instead they engage the imagination, the emotions, even the body and bring awareness not to the mind but to the whole man. Just as a good novel does. Goose bumps. Startled jumps. Tears.
That’s why the answer to the question is neither. Maybe one day people will stop asking. After all, neither writers or readers need an explanation of what’s happening in novels. They simply know, by experience, that it’s good.
Bravo.
2 Comments