Some of you may know of Peter S. Beagle's book "The Last Unicorn"...Though I can be...candid... in my critiques, I can say, without quantification, that this book was the first book that made me realize what I could write. Up until that point, I had only been reading, reading, reading---my few attempts at imitation were only that: poor and derivative. Though every writer is a thief, I didn't quite know what to filch until Beagle dangled a gold coin in front of my nose. He showed me that I could be myself, and still write. So if you get the chance, read Beagle. It would be very easy to go on a tangent on how interesting his life has been, but I'll let you discover that in your own time and inclination.
As far as my book is concerned, I have had to reformulate the ending. The characters are demanding something more meaningful than just a pat on the head, an easy ending. There is going to be heartache, as much as I want to make everyone happy. Too often, written relationships seem contrived; conditions are set forth by an author, and the characters move in a certain arc towards some 'understanding.' In other words, there are misunderstandings, which lead to conflicts that require resolution. Relationships begin with misunderstandings because you don't understand someone you don't know. You can have an intuition, a sense of destiny, a high, or even a repulsion, but you do not have the person. Relationships work when the actual meets up with the expectation---never when one exceeds the other. In that sense, relationships are a compromise between extremes of fascination and self-preservation. And this negotiation is continuous, though stories and movies may make us think otherwise. Intimacy, words, marriage, children: while these experiences might provide moments of clarification, like most revelations or epiphanies, these insights are fleeting. To be in relationship is to be engaged with some “Other,” who is always distinct, who is always looking at you with the same sense of...befuddlement. Our egos may be decentered, but that doesn't mean they disappear. Instead, they wander like restless ghosts between our conscious and subconscious levels, trying to piecemeal some identity from all our conflicting impulses. We thrust this motley garment, this self, into the world, calling it “mine,” and are inevitably disappointed. This disappointment arises when we see others who may not be as keen with needles as we fancy ourselves to be..., or or when we put our fingers through the holes in what we thought was one seamless habiliment and cringe at what's beneath. Dissatisfaction, rather than always being the fault of others, has its origins within us. We want to be seen, but we never really know what makes us feel so damn naked. Some of us spend our whole lives trying to cover up, piling layer upon layer until the self is immobile, while others strip off everything, freeing the self from the merest thread of constraint.
Which is 'better'? That's irrelevant. As a writer, I want to depict this tension, rather than resolve it. Playing with the 'narrative voice' is one way to do that: the “Poisonwood Bible” is a great example, where the narrative voice (first person) shifts from chapter to chapter. But it is an old technique---Faulkner is one older example that comes to mind. Also, since there is another character who is actually writing the book, there is also a whole other layer of interpretation to sift through. This author has his own agenda and connects the story to events in his own time. Is the story meant to inspire, or incite? Is it purely literary, or is it sacred? Is this person writing for the ages, or for those in a certain cabal? Right now, I am assuming the story, as is, was patched together from several sources: 1.) oral tales, 2.) manuscripts that depict the main character's visions, and 3.) the author/compiler/editor's experience and imagination.
It is hard to talk about what isn't written, so I'll stop blogging to do just that :)
And you: go read some Beagle!
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