Winter_Fare
Virgo
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2021
- Posts
- 1,052
I don't often start threads but today a question springs to mind and I feel the urge to ask: feel free to ignore this topic if you feel it's not lighthearted enough.
I don't feel that writing fiction of any stripe, distasteful or not, makes you a bad person. I try to take what is written as an entity, if not self contained (because obviously culture and context cannot be ignored), then certainly possessed of an intrinsic value of its own.
Equally, it doesn't feel right to condemn the works of a bad person out of hand, simply because the bad person wrote them, any more than it would be right to condemn their offspring. Work once released into the wild is what it is. A spade that can dig foundations is also a potential weapon in another person's hands.
This excerpt from "The Thought Fox" by Ted Hughes is beautiful, even cut adrift from the body:
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Yet Hughes was deeply flawed. He hurt the people he loved.
Are there any works of fiction you value, even though the author falls short in some way?
I don't feel that writing fiction of any stripe, distasteful or not, makes you a bad person. I try to take what is written as an entity, if not self contained (because obviously culture and context cannot be ignored), then certainly possessed of an intrinsic value of its own.
Equally, it doesn't feel right to condemn the works of a bad person out of hand, simply because the bad person wrote them, any more than it would be right to condemn their offspring. Work once released into the wild is what it is. A spade that can dig foundations is also a potential weapon in another person's hands.
This excerpt from "The Thought Fox" by Ted Hughes is beautiful, even cut adrift from the body:
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Yet Hughes was deeply flawed. He hurt the people he loved.
Are there any works of fiction you value, even though the author falls short in some way?