Sequel about fictional worlds: falling in love and the „vortex“

As I mentioned in my first blog about fictional worlds, Shakespeare became a starting point – for an incredible amount of things to happen – but, specifically, for thinking about fictional worlds. Because it was the first time I became conscious that I had entered a fictional world, and why having a fictional world to “live in” is so important for me. That happened basically because I was forced out of another one, called “Middle-earth”, where there was suddenly nothing to explore for me anymore, and for which I had neglected still another one, the world of the Icelandic sagas. And I kind of panicked because I realized that, after what had happened, I would never be able to go back where I had come from, and didn’t want to. So, I suddenly stood there “naked”, in the middle of - or, much worse: WITHOUT any kind of utopia. As I have just learned, not from Google but watching yet another series, “Madmen”, “utopia” has two roots in Greek: eutopos and outopus. So, it doesn’t just mean “no place” (respectively: “a place that is not to be”!) but also: a bad place. And I know I tend to be dramatic sometimes, but in this case it is still not even close: compared to where I had been before, this was a really shit place to be.

So, it didn’t take a lot for the “magic” to work on me, I suppose. Which doesn’t explain what I shall never be able to explain: WHY it worked in this way, already when I read the first sonnet, as no other text ever had and probably ever will. Though this experience without doubt informed every act of reading since, kind of selecting what is really good and interesting, because, since then, I know so exactly what I want. So, one of my first requirements for Shakespeare’s world to “become” a fictional world was met to the utmost degree. And it couldn’t be expressed any better than by what my nephew Felix said concerning “The Lord of the Rings”:

“I am feeling as if I really was in this world, together with the elf, and the dwarf, and the hobbit.”

The FEELING was exactly the same in my case, I am sure. But it instantly led to a question I brought up in my first blog about fictional worlds because I definitely DIDN’T want to be there WITH THESE PEOPLE. So, unlike in the case of “Middle-earth”, an explanation was required right away for WHY Shakespeare’s world became a fictional world for me – which was something that had already happened. There was no doubt about it. And now it becomes suddenly very interesting and productive that I have started on “Suwa” in my previous blogs because there I have exactly the opposite instance of a fictional world. Concerning Shakespeare’s world I had nothing more but my reading experience to vouch for it to be a fictional world. It doesn’t meet any other OBVIOUS requirements for a fictional world. Whereas concerning Suwa I don’t have the experience of living in it. It is not a fictional world I have lived in, or would want to. Although there were moments when I connected with it and when my imagination was kindled. For example when the author described the “ice planet” to me, where there are gigantic ice-dragons living in vertical tunnels in the ice, feeding on worms which feed on ice, like earth-worms do on earth. When there is some kind of disturbance the dragons come out of their holes, kind of rising into the sky. And I could see them looming hundreds of meters above the protagonists, who had just landed their space-ship on the planet, like gigantic kites moving slightly in the upcurrent, beautiful and shiny like “airy” glaciers beneath the sun. There my imagination covered for the film that wasn’t there for me. And as “Suwa” is a film, not a book, there won’t be many of these occasions – unless it is finally produced as a film during my lifetime. It is a world that exists only for one person so far, but the sketches of text and imagery I retrieved didn’t leave me in any doubt that there is, in fact, a fictional world. It is a fantasy world with its own solar system consisting of nineteen planets (and a sun) which are inhabited by so many different peoples that I cannot keep track of them if I don’t make an inventory sometime. And they are not just “there”, there are backstories, potentially for all of them, which are told occasionally, in case of need. But I automatically assume that all of this exists “somewhere”. Maybe it doesn’t, and it is just a habit of reading to treat a text of this kind as if there was a whole world behind it. But without any doubt it is possible, and there is a potential source for all this information “in” the author whom I could ask about it. Of course there is no way of knowing how much there really is - not even for him! But, in any case, there is much more than is displayed on the surface.

So, there we have the two “poles” of my interactive definition of a fictional world: on the one hand a conscious being living in this world, on the other some kind of textual structure with the potential of becoming a world. And, what is really fascinating for me at the moment: one of these poles can be virtually missing, and it still works. Of course there is “something” there, in every case, but it can be very weak, and there is still the evidence of a fictional world. In the case of Suwa there is obviously some structure which we associate with the structure of a real world, but it is not “the real world”, otherwise we wouldn’t observe the structure. (Another fascinating observation I have made lots of times: that repeating something, or producing a parallel structure, is a means of analysis and producing evidence for us. Which, I suspect, is the reason why we tell stories, and, in fact, have to.) There are certainly fictional worlds which operate “within” the real world, but the model case of a fictional world is this kind of “closed” fantasy world where everything refers to something “within” in the first place, and only indirectly to a parallel “real world”. But, my first surprising find thinking about fictional worlds: there are all kinds of fictional worlds that are not at all like this.

For example the world of Shakespeare – which doesn’t even have a name, just an author. Where the author is virtually the only integrating element. And it was never intended to be a fictional world, by the way, which is the whole point of worlds like Suwa, or Middle-earth. And there are no protagonists you are supposed to connect with, for one thing because there are different protagonists for every play, of course. The plays are not connected in any way – except for some parts of the “histories”. So, if there is a “world”, in a literal sense, it is different for any of the plays. Still I would never give up this notion of a Shakespearean world, with lots of ties to more than one “real world”, and, not least, a lot of imagined ones.

But the world having no narrative centre is not the only reason that “we” don’t connect with these people in a direct way, that is, by putting ourselves in their place. The main reason is that it is a world of the stage – and the act of reading is only completed, in my experience, by seeing or imagining the plays on a stage. And a stage is, as I realized just now, thinking about it, a very unlikely place for a fictional world to be created. Of course, in bygone times, when there was no tv or even novels to read, it was the only place where this could happen. But, at least for me, there is much more “space” for an imaginary world to unfold when I am reading a book or even when I am watching a dvd. In the first case it is rather self-evident, but the second observation surprised me. I think I have now hit on the answer to a question which disturbed me, especially since I realized that I probably preferred watching “The Crucible” in the cinema to seeing it on the stage. Though, having just had the one experience, I can’t really know. Being so fond of great acting, I should be the same as all these people who pay a lot of money to see their favourite actors “live” on the stage. And maybe I would be if I had the money but, as it is, I am not even keen on it – though nothing could stop me buying the dvd if there was one … Probably having both kinds of experience and comparing them would be great, but I am sure that it would be A TOTALLY DIFFERENT KIND of experience. And it is not even about getting “too close”, rather the opposite. I think the difference lies in the very nature of the stage situation where I cannot help seeing the actor AND the character – unlike when I am watching something on screen (where this MIGHT happen as well, but only as an exception). In a way, for me, it is the presence of “real” actors that creates the “fourth wall” that can get “between” my imagination and the character the actor has created. Not always, but especially when it becomes most interesting and compelling for me, I am conscious that there is still someone else in the room with me. Some ominous presence my thoughts cannot penetrate, but which is still there. And of course this is an interesting experience, which I know I have liked a lot in former times, but which is not productive, or relevant, where my relationship with the stage character(s), and the text, is concerned. Which is what I am interested in first and foremost.

And this might have something to do with how important this “event” of creating a fictional world has become for me. Many people fetishize actors and want every information they can get about them “as a person” – whereas I actively avoid coming upon this kind of biographical information, especially about actors I really like. Even to a point that I probably sacrifice the occasion of gathering information about their carrier, or parts of their biography that would be relevant for how they work, and which I would very much want to have. And with authors it has been (and still is) the same: I never understood why people always want to know what kind of a person they are, and why they might have written this book, and so on. Though it might be enlightening sometimes, even might make me understand the text better, I don’t really care about this kind of information. I think this is because I have some experience, though unpublished, as a writer of fictional texts. And I know that only then something interesting might arise from my relationship with the text I am writing when the act of writing is completely separated from any real life situation or experience. There are a lot of exceptions and variations on that theme of course, but I uphold this as a general rule. It is kind of a parallel to the fact that accomplished actors never say “I” when they are talking about the character they are playing. Everything that happens “between” them and their character can only happen between two separate entities. As in my interactive definition, you always need the two poles for any kind of “energy flow”. Especially to produce the kind of “lightning” you need to let an original thought “materialize” in a sentence, or to create these unique moments that define an original character on screen or on a stage. So, to get THAT CLOSE, it is imperative to keep your distance.

I think this kind of thing, and how we deal with the “fourth wall”, is probably quite different for different people. I just noticed that I like to suddenly come upon the fourth wall on screen, where I usually don’t realize that it is there until, very seldom of course, a drop of water or mud hits the camera lense. Or, more often, that I become conscious of an actor “acting” – which might either be a great thing or the opposite. But if this happened often it would annoy me, or at least interfere with my own “fictional world” in this case. In the same way it interferes with my reading when I am thinking of the actor or the author as a real person, kind of “talking” to me. So, being a world of the stage, even when I am just reading,  “Shakespeare” is a very “unlikely” fictional world, at least for me. Even to the point that I still doubt and question its existence. Nonetheless it became a fictional world for me in a way that was like a complete amalgamation. It never happened in this way before, though some of my past fictional worlds had been quite intense as well. But this was an entirely new experience. I never felt being THAT close. It was kind of a parallel to something that happened about a year earlier and has only grown since, which was to fall in love “completely”. This had never happened before as well, and I wouldn’t even have considered it as an option for me. In fact I couldn’t believe it. It was (and is) EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED. NOTHING was missing. And this is of course still something I doubt and question very much because it appears so unlikely. In a way I still “doubt” Shakespeare as well, thinking: this cannot be SO good EVERY TIME it happens. But I have come to trust by now that it is, and will be. And, in the same way I cannot imagine ever to fall “out of love” again, I am sure reading Shakespeare will always be like this. And I think this is because I know exactly why it is so important for me, and what I am getting out of it for myself.

About falling in love I have just found the explanation – which I already knew, but I was extremely pleased to find it “in” Shakespeare. And “on the stage”, seeing the production of “Romeo and Juliet” by the Kenneth Branagh Theatre in the cinema. It was worth watching, though in some respects completely failed the expectations I had for this play. But there was something I totally loved, and which made watching it really worthwhile. It was the way Romeo as well as Juliet were visibly CHANGED by falling in love. They both appeared to have left all of a sudden the place of uncertainty where they stood in life and were changed into the people they were meant to be. Yes!, I thought: THIS IS WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN in this play. This is why their commonplace love-story is relevant AS SUCH, not just for the sake of the dramatic relationship between two families. What I saw was certainly there, “in” the acting, but the reason I was able to see it was that I had had the experience myself. And there was of course something about the experience that had become vital to me – in the same way that there was something in Shakespeare’s world that “clicked” with me in this way and makes me enjoy every new encounter like this. In a sense, it must contain EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED as well. And, in the same way as in the case of falling in love it has everything to do with the person in question, in the case of Shakespeare’s world there has to be something which creates this structure in my brain every time I enter it. Though, what it is exactly is much less obvious.

But falling in love with it is only one, though probably the extremest, way of establishing a relationship with a text to create a fictional world. I probably fell in love with ”House of Cards”, but I didn’t fall in love with the “Spooks”, and  certainly not with “Hannibal”.  (Which doesn’t mean that there aren’t parts of it I totally loved, but it still isn’t that “convincing”.) And I don’t think that I fell in love with “Vanity Fair”, though I am not quite sure. But no, I didn’t, it certainly was a fling, and it is still good, reading it again, swallowing eagerly all the bits I had missed. But it certainly isn’t “me”.

So, the part about falling in love I have established in probably much more detail than necessary. But the other part, about why this world is a fictional world, remains unclear. There has to be something, though, in the text, that makes me connect with it in this way and “start” a fictional world. And it is probably not one “thing”, or singular structure, but something quite complex that I was looking for and found here, more than anywhere else. Parts of it I have certainly covered in my blog already, calling it “structure and beauty”, or establishing the structure of the world as being basically a “realistic” world – where people are driven by their needs and fears and predicaments, not by the magnetic poles of good and evil. It is also a world full of wonderful humour and exquisite irony, which is often only revealed to my eyes when I see it on the stage. (Who would have thought that “Titus Andronicus” can be so much fun, as demonstrated by the latest production of the Globe Theatre!) All these features, expressed so beautifully, may account for the effect – in the same way a loved person is probably loved for many of his/her features. But I am not quite content with this. When it comes to this person I can fall completely in love with, or this world that gives me everything I ever wanted, there has to be something that made this happen once and for all.

Thinking about this, I came upon a term I remembered from some literary context: the vortex. I don’t remember anything specific about it, and am probably using it incorrectly. I just remembered this idea of a DYNAMIC structure drawing the reader towards the centre of the text. This “vortex” movement, working in an ideal way, describes exactly the kind of experience I am writing about. Concerning a literary text, the vortex might be something infinitely complex, impossible to penetrate or draw out. I can only try to stop the movement at one point to look at it. And maybe find the unifying factor which makes the vortex complete and isolates it from the surrounding world as this unique and recognizable structure. I can only speculate, but I think that the central structure of Shakespeare’s world is a “language-based” structure. It is Shakespeare’s inimitable use of words, and metaphors, and cadence, which makes almost everything in his world look so unique and special and true. The way it is expressed affects every single element of this world and provides it with beauty and significance. There is no randomness, and everything that happens in this world happens “through” language – to a point that it is in a way much more important to HEAR the actors than to see them. (As in “Macbeth” where an insignificant actor “struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is HEARD no more.”) That almost everything has already happened going “through the ear” before it actually “happens”. An ideal situation which I have encountered just once, in the recent production of “Othello” by the RSC which I described in one of my other blogs. This verbal structure, almost impervious to the wear and tear of time, is what we inherited of Shakespeare. It is basically what we can HEAR - though there would probably have been a great deal of pageantry and “action” for the eyes as well. And, at least in my case, the kind of energy created by this structure sparks creativity on my part, so that I automatically begin to imagine what these characters and situations might look like on the stage. And it certainly works in the same way for real directors and actors, giving them as many options, and so much to discover and to “use” as inspiration, as they could possibly want. Wherever I look (or listen) I behold this immense expanse of freedom and almost unlimited possibilities.

Though there are certainly many of these “language-based” worlds to be found in literature, the only other one of “my” fictional worlds which is kind of like this is currently “Vanity Fair”. And there the language is not so predominant a feature for me as the irony which permeates this world. Reading “Vanity Fair” I am always conscious of the irony, and enjoy it, whereas, reading Shakespeare, I always enjoy the language as such. There is a strong unifying structure, strong enough to separate the world of “Vanity Fair” from every real or imaginary world, but it is comparatively “weak” as a fictional world nonetheless because I only stay in it as long as I am actively reading. It didn’t create any permanent residue in me, apart from a memory of great reading. Which might even rule it out as a fictional world.

Of course, fictional worlds based on books are per se language-based worlds. To establish the difference though, one of my other fictional worlds appears to prove useful: the world of the “Making of England” series of historic novels by Bernard Cornwell. In this case I enjoy the writing so much that I have begun to read them aloud for maximum fun, even creating voices for the numerous characters, always failing to remember them, or being extremely pleased when I do, meeting one of them again after a hundred pages. But, as much as I love it, I know that the language is not what “keeps” the world “together” for me. It is this time-travelling experience which I want to get from historic novels and so seldom do. So that I usually don’t read them. But Cornwell convinced me, probably with his first paragraph, that I actually WAS in ninth century England (which didn’t exist then, by the way …) The time machine at work, so to speak. Of course the language is one of the important features that create this illusion of reality, but, in this case, just a part of the experience, not, kind of, the experience itself.

So, at the end of this blog, I have actually established my interactive definition in a way that satisfies me. With myself as a reader who wants to be seduced, and the vortex that “wants” to draw me in at the other end. And it is not the kind of definition that “kills” a living process, but one that is beautiful in itself, describing a living process in a way that is dynamic and leaves room for things to happen. And I am looking forward to using it further, investigating all my fictional worlds.