Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Who Cares What You Thought You Meant When You Wrote It?

Musical notation—the notes on the paper that a musician reads to learn and perform a piece—is a sort of shorthand. It’s a set of instructions telling the performer which notes to play in what order and for how long each and how to phrase and inflect those notes and melodies. No matter how detailed the composer’s instructions, notation remains a shorthand and there is never enough information on the page to answer every performance question a player might have. Also, two competent musicians (or groups of musicians) can play the same piece of music from the same printed music, and the performances can differ drastically but both performances will be “correct” because, as I say, the printed music (the “score”) is a shorthand and there’s a lot of interpretation necessary on the part of the musician(s) to bring the piece to life. Different interpretations of individual works are entirely valid. This explains why I have multiple versions of Bartok’s string quartets and Bach’s solo violin music on my CD shelf at home; every group or performer interprets the instructions of Bartok or Bach in a unique way.

I’m going to claim that reading a book or a story is a lot like performing a piece of music from a printed score. Not because the written word is a shorthand (though some semioticians will say that it is, and they might be right), but because each reader interprets the written word in a unique way. Each of us brings our own culture, our own reading history, our own social awareness, our own prejudices, etc with us when we sit down to read. We make value judgments and critical decisions about art based as much on who we are as individuals as we do based on the work of art itself. The process of reading a book is more than just allowing some stranger to tell us a story; the process also includes us actively applying our personalities, beliefs and knowledge to the text as we go along. Sometimes the text will change our personalities, beliefs and knowledge. Sometimes, too, our personalities, beliefs and knowledge will make the text into something that the author wouldn’t recognize.

I’m going to claim that this transformation of the text by the reader during the act of reading is very common and is entirely valid. I’m going to further claim that a reader who dislikes a text because he misunderstands what the author meant is reading correctly. I’m going to also claim that a reader who likes a text through a misunderstanding of what the author meant is also reading correctly.

Those last two claims might be objectionable, but I’m willing to bet that we’ve all done those things and not known it. I’m willing to bet that most of us misunderstand what an author meant in at least one important passage of every book we read. Usually, I think, we know when we don’t get what they’re getting at and just move along but sometimes we don’t know that we don’t know and so we create a unique interpretation of the text. That’s neither good nor bad; it’s just the way it is.

The thing is, when you are alone with a text, you are alone with the text. The author is not there. The text is not the author. You cannot, I don’t think, reconstruct the author or his intent from the text. There’s no way of knowing what the author was thinking, what the author had read and is alluding to or reacting against, what was just on the author’s mind when he sat down to write. I’m reading the letters of Flannery O’Connor and also the letters of Anton Chekhov, and I’m constantly amused by their complaints that readers are misinterpreting their stories. Because readers aren’t misinterpreting, they’re merely interpreting. Readers are free to disagree or to invent their own meanings for a novel or a story because reading is—or should be—a creative act.

In general, then, the author and what he had in mind when he wrote are not the least bit important to the reader. The reader has the text and nothing more. This is what I by-and-large believe. I think. Four of my friends and I went to see Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus” a few weeks ago. I was unfamiliar with the play and after we watched it my friends and I went to a bar to drink and argue about the possible meanings of the work. Was Shakespeare for or against populist movements? Was Shakespeare in favor of the nobility forming the ruling class, or wasn’t he? Did Shakespeare see Coriolanus as a hero, a villain, or something else? There is no real way to tell simply from the text. I admit that I have since cheated, and have read up a bit on what was going on in England when Shakespeare was writing this play, but even with that contextual information, it remains unclear what old Billy S was thinking. Eventually I have to admit that what Billy Shakes had in mind is unknowable, and I have to make up my own mind about the play, based on who I am and what I bring to the play when I see/read it. So we authors, then, once we’ve written a story and handed it to the reader, are politely invited to leave the room and stay out of it. No matter how loud we shout at them, the reader can’t hear us anyway; the noise the book itself makes will drown us out. Besides, they don’t want our opinions about the book. They just want the book.

27 comments:

  1. I'm going to say I like this post. When I'm reading, I don't much care what the author's intention was, only what the words say. I do want the text to make me think the writer had a coherent intention, whatever it was, but that's just a desire for a text that seems unified and intentional and artful. I mostly just want the book to delight me as and after I read it, and I'll draw my own conclusions about what it means.

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    1. Yeah, I want the text to seem like it has some meaning to me. Some books make me work harder to assemble a meaning from them than others. Sometimes I think I have to pretend that I see meaning when I'm not sure I really do. I don't see the author having a place in any of this, aside from being the originator of the text. They aren't an active part of the process of my assigning meaning. Which is however weirdly counterintuitive. The Romantic idea of Art tells us that we are communing with the mind of the Artist but I think that's a pretty myth.

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  2. Wow. Interesting post. I don't ever, I think, think about what the author may have been thinking. Well, except with Stephen King because his stuff is so crazy. But I'm too involved in the story to really care what the author thought! If it's a good story, that's all I want!

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    1. I wonder how much difference there is between the stuff King wrote while he was still drinking to the stuff he writes nowadays. I bet a reader couldn't tell the difference. Anyway, yes: the story is what matters, right?

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  3. I recall hearing some author (name escapes me at the moment) tell about being accosted by one of his readers and accused of writing filth. He denied having done so but the reader pointed out certain passages in his latest work and the author had to admit that they could be interpreted as such. "It was in there. I didn't write it that way but it was in there." So just write what you want and hope for the best because you can't control how it will be read.

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    1. Maybe on some level the author knew he was putting in stuff that could be interpreted as "filth" but he was in denial to allow himself to write it. Not only can't authors control how stuff is read, I don't believe they can control how stuff is written, not completely. I believe in the "fog of war" surrounding a lot of writing, especially when writers are trying to be as honest as they can with their material. We put in stuff we don't quite understand because it feels right, and then we're annoyed when some reader identifies the true meaning of it which doesn't always match our self image. And stuff.

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  4. I think I actually missed the point of the "authorial intent" debate when I sat down and wrote this. So what I really wanted to say (maybe) is that some folks claim we have to take into account the idea of "the author's intentions" when we critique a novel; did they achieve the effects they intended or did they not? I say the author is kicked out of the process; the author no longer exists once a book is published. Who cares what they thought they were doing? We don't really know what that was, anyway. I get to judge based on the bound printed matter I hold in my hands. The author has been fired. There: that's much more succint and clear.

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    1. I have some fun stuff to say about this tomorrow. :)

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    2. I thought you would, since you've been in a room with readers who discussed a book you wrote! I will be patient and wait for your post tomorrow.

      And by "succint" I meant "succinct." No coffee yet this morning. I should see about that.

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  5. I have a lot to say about this, but I think I might wait until tomorrow to say it most of it. I agree with you that it's all subjective on the reader's part.

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  6. It's the difference between imply and infer. When I write (or say) something, I have a specific meaning I put into my words, i.e. I imply something. When you read (or listen) to me, you take something away from it, i.e. you infer something.

    In a perfect world the inferral will always match the implication, and the shorter the form of communication, the more we should hope for an accurate match-up. But the longer the communication, especially when we delve into novel-length fiction, the less likely everything will be interpreted correctly.

    I agree with Scott...there is no right or wrong way to extrapolate meaning from a piece of fiction. If there were, literary discussions would be as much fun as grading math homework.

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    1. Although anyone who disagrees with my interpretation of a novel is wrong. Unless they can prove that I'm wrong. But they can't. Because I'm right, damn it. Trust me on this one.

      I also doubt the idea that artists in any medium can account for every decision they make in the creative process. A lot of "it just felt right at the time" goes into art. What's the intent behind that? Nobody knows, not even (or maybe not especially) the artist. I'll have more to say about this when Davin posts on Thursday, I think.

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  7. I think encyclopedias (If they still exist), reference and history books should leave nothing to interpretation. I want straight facts without embellishment or political spin. Other than that…
    I loved this post. I even agreed with your “questionable statements” until I read your comment where you mentioned critiquing where an author’s intent may come into play. I think misreading a sentence matters put in that perspective. Analyzing a book from a writer’s perspective differs from a reader, which echoes Michelle’s earlier post. For the most part, I prefer to interpret the way I choose when I read a passage. On the other hand, I want to get it right, and if many readers misunderstand a certain text, then there may a problem with the text itself. All of that is different than and an intentionally written text meant to be interpreted by the individual. And I hated the end of film “2001, A Space Odyssey.”
    This reminds me of the old adage, “Your opinion of me is none of my business.” That’s true, unless I ask you for it.

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    1. I might suggest that the neutrality of non-fiction is probably a myth. Other than that...

      I know there's a difference between reading to critique a manuscript where the author is hoping for feedback from a living reader and just reading a book by yourself. But even so, I have my doubts that we can critique meaningfully if we're trying to figure out what an author meant; it's more honest (and useful, I claim) to just report our impressions of the book, and to let the writer worry about what she meant. Sometimes, you know, especially in early drafts, the writer has no idea what she means to say.

      I didn't hate the end of "2001" but I can't say I understood it.

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  8. I agree. One of the questions I hated having to answer in High School literature classes was "What do you think the author meant by this?". The question would have been more aptly phrased "List the key points we went over in class about the historical or political context of this book." While its interesting to think of a book in the context of the author's life or motives, especially if it was written hundreds of years ago in a culture very removed from ours, what it really comes down to is YOUR reaction to it NOW. Was it enjoyable? Was it disturbing? Did it make some kind of sense to you? Did you feel or understand something more intently as you read? If so it was a good book.
    That is also what makes book discussions so interesting. The different things other readers will get out of the same story.

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  9. You cannot, I don’t think, reconstruct the author or his intent from the text.

    Then how can an author ever hope to communicate with a reader?

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    1. Well, it's entirely one-way communication, isn't it? The author creates a solid object. Authors rarely have any choice in who the reader is. When you pick up Shakespeare or whoever, what sort of communication is really going on? Shakespeare or whoever makes a claim: "This is what I think I see!" and we look at what he wrote about what he thought he saw, and that's it for his participation. We layer what we think we see over what he wrote about what he thought he saw, and we either take away some meaning from that or we don't. But art isn't a conversation, though art-as-conversation is a pretty metaphor.

      Anyway, authors get to make statements. Readers get to read or misread those statements as they will. It's anarchy, man.

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    2. It's anarchy, man.

      True, in one sense. I mean, no author can guarantee that every reader everywhere will understand what he's trying to communicate. But we must be more or less able to reconstruct an author or his intent from the text, otherwise this exchange couldn't happen.

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    3. But there's no exchange is the thing. What do I get to say back to Chekhov? Nothing. Ever. And I believe I don't need to know a single fact about him in order to understand his stories. It's the story I need to understand, not the author. Art is a social act, surely, but the art is always in the end separate from the author. And from the reader/viewer. It has a life of its own (or it doesn't and is forgotten).

      Also, how can you know that the image of the author you form as you read is anything like the actual author? Likely it's as much a fiction as the book you're reading. But I don't think that matters, because I don't think communication is anything like precise. I am constantly amazed and alarmed at the things readers see in the books I write. Sometimes they see stuff I didn't realize I put in there, but sometimes they see stuff I can't see in there at all, from any angle. Are these readers "wrong" in some way? I don't think so. But if I allow the correctness of their misreading, with whom are they communicating? With me?

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    4. And I believe I don't need to know a single fact about him in order to understand his stories. It's the story I need to understand, not the author.

      Ah, i see what you're getting at. Perhaps we should draw a distinction between the author as a historical individual and the author as a textual presuppostion. After all, everyone approaches the text with presuppositions. Reader-response critics believe that readers create meaning. Deconstructionists believe texts simply can't communicate meaning without internal contradition. But it seems wise for a humble reader to approach a text with the humble idea that an author wrote it with something in mind and its the reader's job to discover what that is.

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    5. it seems wise for a humble reader to approach a text with the humble idea that an author wrote it with something in mind and its the reader's job to discover what that is.

      I get what you mean, but the author is usually an abstraction, no? I think when we say "what does the text mean?" and "what does the author mean?" we generally use the terms interchangeably. But I mostly think that our awareness/consideration of the author happens outside of our reading time. "What story is Peter Carey trying to tell me in Oscar and Lucinda and what moral lessons is he maybe pushing at me?" isn't a question I ask while reading, but I won't deny that the questions I ask about the reading aren't part of the reading experience. Even so, the conclusions I reach about Peter Carey are not necessarily accurate, no matter how much of a good faith effort I make based on the text.

      On the other hand, I may reach completely accurate conclusions. I'll never really know, which I guess is why I think it best to take the author out of the equation. Which is maybe impossible. I know some people who are very smart readers, who have a lot of fun thinking about the authors when they read. I know that when I read Nabokov, I am constantly aware of the author--and that's in no small part because Nabokov throws himself at the reader constantly. I have a nagging suspicion that I have deep personal reasons for wanting to wish the author away that might be coloring my opinion on this matter. That suspicion interests me a great deal. But I can't get past the suspicion to whatever might be causing it. Certainly your comments help, though.

      I was just telling Michelle in an email that the stronger my claims about authorial intent, the greater my doubt about the truth of those claims. After all, there are many types of understanding and many types of knowledge about art, right? I am apparently arguing for a single, narrowly-defined way of interpreting, and that bugs me.

      And hey, look: once more, I manage to make a conversation all about me! It's what I do. Alas.

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  10. I have a couple of points I want to make on this Thursday. But I do think some people care. I think, basically, there are two ways of reading, one to get the story and one to get the author. When I'm reading Woolf or Murakami or Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I find the writers to be interesting, and that's what I want to learn about. Now that I've written that I find it even more interesting. I read some books for stories and others for writers.

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    1. Yes, but you find them interesting based on your beliefs, your own ideas, personal experience and interpretation. When you read you are always subjective. It is fascinating.

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  11. Someone said once, I think it was Jane Smiley, that reading is the reader's consciousness mingling with the writer's. I love that and I've always felt that way about it, even if I didn't know it.

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  12. This is a great post and I agree with you whole-heartedly (although this doesn't mean you're always right, just this time). Very recently I asked the author of a given work what she meant by a certain section because I really wanted to understand it. I was actually quite happy that I could chat with her about it because I hate reading something and ending up feeling like I'm just not getting it. I'm not talking about technical details; you can research and learn about that stuff. I'm talking about when I don't understand what the author is getting at, such as in The Silmarillion by Tolkien. That's gotta be one of the hardest reads and I feel like I almost get the concepts but not quiet. And it bugs me.

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    1. There are books that I feel I understand while I'm reading them, but as soon as I take my eyes off the page I realize I have no idea what the author is talking about. Some of those books are books I really like, too. Though some of those books make me feel like a tiny child looking up at an adult and realizing that I'm much less bright than they are.

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  13. One part of this discussion that might be interesting to follow up on is that we are writers here, talking about authorial intent. Do we feel differently about writers than non-writers? More specifically, how much do non-writers think about authors (aside from "I love/hate his books")? How much to we writers want readers to assume about us as individuals based on our books. I don't think that someone who reads my books "knows" me at all. They know my writing, but they don't know me. I think.

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