About Telephone and Interpretation

Post 181:
            I’m an ancient being. There was a time when I had to sit in a dirty little desk, surrounded by other smelly, hormone-enraged humans, listening to a person tell me why something written by someone even more ancient was so meaningful.

            We all had to do it. And whether you cheated your way through, paid attention, or slept, it’s something we all had to face.

            I’m talking specifically about interpretation. A work of literature or some play gets written, contemporaries hail it as a masterpiece, and then a bunch of vultures come in to say why it’s a masterpiece. It gets passed down through the ages where it eventually arrives on the desk of a smelly, hormone-enraged human.

            This human has a very limited worldview, and this masterpiece is meant to expand said worldview.

            On that score, I believe it works, insofar as the young human will listen.

            But what is he/she listening to?

            You’re listening to a game of telephone. A teacher explaining what someone thinks the originator of the work was thinking or saying when they wrote or conceived the thing. This is a tricky business. Interpretation is touchy.

            For instance, you might hear that the way the water was flowing or the type of shirt a character was wearing has some significance to the story. The fact that the female character is blond and not brunette. Perhaps. I’m going with ten percent. Ten percent of the time, there is some deeper meaning behind the details. Sometimes details are just details, something to enhance the enjoyment of the story.

            Of course this varies. Modern writers had a field day with symbolism, almost to the point where you couldn’t enjoy the freaking story. Mostly though, the writer is simply trying to craft his tale the best way he can. There is symbolism and double-meanings, but I’d venture to say that most of these little nuggets are easily perceived by the average reader. Most writers want you to understand. That way, you can enjoy it.

            Let me put it this way. When Dostoyevsky or Twain or Vonnegut or Tom Clancy or whoever the hell put pen to paper, they didn’t imagine smelly, hormone-enraged humans sitting at a desk, listening to an interpretation taught by another intermediary. Just saying. All you interpreters: keep it in your pants.

            Cheers. See you after.