By Hannah Cole, Literature Columnist
Author Scott Russell Sanders opened the first event of Lee's 2016 Writer's Festival, Feb. 24, with wise words. “You don’t become a writer only by studying writing. You do it by engaging in anything that interests you. It’s not just a subject; it’s a way of being in the world.” Sanders said. Sanders shared some of his most recent stories with students that are paired with photographs taken by Peter Forbes. He wrote each of the 8 stories he read based on one photograph in Forbes’ collection, and the combination of one image with a corresponding creative essay is a powerful pairing. Sanders looked through the collection of photos and wrote stories on the ones he kept coming back to because “something about the image struck me, provoked me.” The idea of writing based on a photograph intrigued me, and the way he incorporated the image into each piece as well as the words themselves mirrors his concern for the preservation of the world we inhabit. He found inspiration in seemingly unrelated photos and gave them a voice. I liked how we could see the image as he was reading, and it was a more poignant connection. I’m glad I had the opportunity to hear him speak and read his work because all writers think differently; their worldviews and experiences are unique to them, and they write out of interest for a particular story or subject. Sanders statement that writing is not merely a subject we enjoy or a major we may have in college—that “it’s a way of being in the world”—is thought-provoking, and it calls into question why we write. I don’t write or read because I’m an English major. I do it because it’s connected to something deeper, and my desire to write and to read definitely is related to what I am passionate about. It is freeing to think this way and to realize that it is true. Hopefully, when we create a work of art, a piece of writing, anything, we do so because we are drawn to something that strikes us about it, that provokes us. The stories he read Wednesday reflected his statement on writing as well as his passion for conservation and his deep concern for the world we live in. My writing reflects other things perhaps than Sanders’ writing, but it reflects who I am and what is important to me. Lee will host two more Writer’s Festival events which will be held in March and April. For more info on upcoming events, contact Dr. William Woolfitt, [email protected] *originally posted on leeclarion.com as part of my weekly literature column and in conjunction with the 2016 Writers' Festival hosted by Lee University's Department of Language and Literature.
0 Comments
By Hannah Cole, Literature Columnist Recently, it seems that I find encouragement in readings for class, since I don’t have much time to read anything else. One class discussion centered on the last part of Plato’s Phaedrus, which seemed daunting to read at first, but the latter part concerning writing versus speech intrigued me. Good literature is, as Socrates claims, “reminders for men who know.” Good literature both informs us of new ideas, but it also serves as a reminder of what we already know. It prompts us to think about characters and ourselves in light of what the author has written. Defining great literature can be difficult because everyone has a different opinion of what speaks to them and what “impactful and great” means. I do think that stories that are well-structured and well-written are worth our attention, and if an author has written them with individual readers and the community of readership in mind, such books hold weight and importance. Great literature should help us to remember things we have may have forgotten, and such books ought to remind us and point to some element of the truth of human experience; there is some aspect within the pages and sentences of quality literature that will stand the test of time and effectively speak to a wide range of readers. Bad literature often holds a poor picture of the world; even if it is fictional, we as readers expect books to portray some semblance of truth. We trust the author to adequately present us with a gripping, exciting story that informs us. Whether that’s a story detailing a chaotic world, one full of fantasy and mystery, or something we’d encounter in our day-to-day life, we expect it to be true in some way. We expect it to find a connection to some part of the story. We can read great literature that we end up disliking. Perhaps Dickens is too wordy for some and Fitzgerald too fixated on analogy for others. Our opinions sometimes cloud the waters of what a good book really is, but we can dislike a writer’s style and still uphold the truth and value of their work. Great literature includes classics, but works that fall into the category of good literature don’t necessarily have to be classic novels. Perhaps there are tiers where Shakespeare, Homer, Virgil, and Dante are the top and Milton, Adichie, Fitzgerald, Vonnegut, Dickens, etc. are in the middle, and the lower tier of great literature exists in bookshops filled with unrecognized titles from unknown authors—but their works are still good literature, and readers benefit just as much from reading their works as reading The Iliad or Hamlet. These types of works hold a strong parallel to human experience, and it remains true to what we know to be true. At times it pushes the bounds of accepted writing, but great literature establishes a strong foundation for the reader that is personal. I spoke with numerous individuals about their thoughts on the definition of great literature, and everyone I talked with mentioned that good books are ones that stuck with them and impacted them at some level: Senior Nursing major, Michelle Tolliver says, “Great literature is made by a pure voice. It’s one that is not necessarily fresh and new but, genuine.” Junior English major, Rachel Hess believes, “Great literature is a story that leaves me thinking after I’m done reading.” Senior English and Psychology major, Sara Robertson considers great literature to be: “a book that I can read (and want to read) multiple times throughout my life, and it still means something to me.” Good writing, and good literature, says different things at different times for different people. It connects with society as a whole, often making a statement about our humanity and displaying truth. After encountering great literature, the hope and expectation is that you don’t remain the same reader you were at the beginning.
*originally posted on leeclarion.com as part of my weekly literature column with the paper. After writing on Lectio Divina, I feel as if I hadn’t thoroughly said all there is to say. The phrase was everywhere I looked last week, which was odd as I encountered it for the fist time last Sunday. I was reading Addie Zierman’s memoir, When We Were on Fire, for one of my classes and it was there in print, staring up at me in the midst of words about her life. I then wrote the article concerning why we should re-read books and why it is so important to us to slow down and take in a text that we may otherwise miss the small elements.
Then, Sons and Daughters was in chapel last Thursday; the female lead singer said she wanted to do something with us that they do at their church and before their shows. She said, “It’s called Lectio Divina, or the art of sacred reading.” I looked up from checking email on my phone to stare at her. She continued, saying, “It’s important to stop and reflect,” and, over the next five minutes or so, she proceeded to read scripture and act out Lectio right there in chapel. She read a passage from Philippians 4, paused, read it again, and we sat in silence as she asked us to take a minute to mediate on it; she then asked everyone to read aloud it with her. It was a neat moment, when she acted on the importance of reflection and response before moving into the songs they had prepared to sing. As readers, the next question after encountering the idea of Lectio Divina is “Now what? What text/book/novel should I read?” I have found myself more and more drawn to texts filled with quotes that encourage me to see the beauty of words and stories in the middle of assigned readings for class. I don’t read many books that I choose for pleasure these days, but one that I have come across recently in a class has reminded me that novels and books hold a certain kind of weight that cannot be filled by Netflix binge-watching. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life is a book by Anne Lamott that details the struggle of writing well, and how to make the most of the time and ideas you have been given. There are also numerous quotes throughout her book that highlight reading as essential— something that lifts our spirits and revives us—such as: “For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.” I love this quote because it truly sums up what it means to engage fully in an author’s text and how good novels often parallel life. Something I have begun doing recently is to pick up a novel from my middle and/or high school years that affected me in some way. I take a pen and underline new sentences that have taken on a new meaning, and I read to remember the feeling of picking up the book for the first time. I appreciate the familiarity that makes it easier to let myself be caught up in the story, in the words. I think looking back on, and re-reading, those texts that were important to us once is helpful as we consider how Lectio Divina can help us to better reflect on what we read. *originally posted on leeclarion.com as part of my weekly literature column. By Hannah Cole, Literature Columnist Last week I wrote on setting a goal this semester of books to read, which can benefit us and prompt us to read more; we become better individuals for it. However, the other side of the conversation—the notion of fully investing in a text—is of equal importance. There is a phrase that I have come across recently that has kept me thinking about its implications constantly: Lectio Divina. It’s a Latin phrase that holds a piece of church history within it, prompting a reader to reconsider the way they approach a text. The notion behind Lectio Divina is rooted in an old monastic tradition where monks would choose a particular book of scripture and steep themselves in it for months on end. They would pour over the text, reading and rereading slowly and deliberately to get the most out of every passage and every word. It is something that at first glance seems strange and foreign—a practice that should stay inside the bounds of monastic life and come nowhere near our own. However, I think we need this. There is an ever-present question we face when we approach the vast world of literature and insurmountable accumulation of texts at a reader’s fingertips. What is the benefit of rereading a book when there is so much out there that I haven’t even encountered yet? This is where the idea of Lectio Divina comes in. Choosing to invest time in a particular novel forces us out of the hectic lives we lead, out of the mindset where we read solely to reach the end, to mark off another book on our list. We are so distracted by society and constantly pressured to go along with the constant flurry of activity and rapid change. We are conditioned to never stay in one place too long, never linger over something when we can easily be moving on to something else, something new and better. There is beauty in repetition, and I think we are afraid of it at times because we don’t know what to do with it. We feel that reading or encountering the same words over and over will cause them somehow to lose their meaning and fall by the wayside, empty. This just isn’t true. Lectio Divina introduces the idea of letting words surround you, to enter your thoughts as you read and to reside there. We ought to cherish the things we admire in books, holding on to them as we might hold on to the encouraging words of a friend, and seek to invest ourselves more fully in what we read. |
PostsArchives
December 2016
Categories |