I don't think it's at all necessary to *always* read in this hybrid immersive-but-also-conscious way - in fact the risk is that you lose touch with your fundamental reading-loving self. Art should always remember that it's supposed to be fun...
Similarly to thinking about a bad book as a good one, when one meets a book which seems very technically self-conscious or showy-offy, there's a comparable kind of giving the author the benefit of the doubt which is well worth doing, at least temporarily, as part of one's writing-training. Starting from the assumption that they weren't trying to make mere mortals gasp, but had a creative purpose in writing it as they did - what might that purpose have been? Why might they have genuine reasons of craft and art to do it that way? One still doesn't have to like the book... (I seriously don't get on with Hardy as I don't with Mahler, but I know they wholly deserve their place in the Great Art camp)
Ha! Which isn't to say that I haven't felt exactly as you do about such a book, on occasion. There are undoubtedly some arrogant/snobbish/pleased-with-themselves authors out there, no question - and yet some of them write books I love. But as in life, so in writing: I find it all works better if I assume good intentions in the work itself, until the evidence is unmissably to the contrary.
One last thought - when I'm judging competitions, one of my ways of choosing between the best of the entries - the shortlist, as it were - is see which of them "turn me back into a reader": despite my racking my writerly discern-o-meter up to the max, which ones draw me helplessly into the story. So you could say that when you realise you've "forgotten" to read like a writer, it's a tribute to the book that's done that. (In which case, of course, it would probably be worth going back to it and figuring out what had that effect.. But at a later date.)
This is so valuable, Emma. I love the detail questions. The point about instinctive artists made me laugh because it's so true - value is often placed on some myth of instinctive talent and I'm sure many a performer or creator is tempted to line up behind it. I wonder also if, at least in British culture, we're not fond of people trying too hard either. The last thing we want to hear from an actor is that he spends hours every day training, studying and practising to perfect his art; we want to hear that he feels inspired by all that's happened to him but of course he's been lucky!
"The last thing we want to hear from an actor is that he spends hours every day training, studying and practising to perfect his art"
Although I do - but then I'm obsessesd with creative process... Totally agree that British culture worships amateurism - always has - and despises or mistrusts professionalism. (I could stand a wobbly argument up about our unique economic and social history, gentry as a capitalist class, super-early urbanisation etc. but I won't). But yes, for whatever reason, there's an embarrassment about being seen to try too hard, in anything from (not) polishing shoes to Boorish Johnson's faux-stammering speech-giving.
Thinking about this post this morning, I suddenly wondered if in our culture, so formed by the Protestant Work Ethic, it sounds self-congratulatory to say "And I worked bloomin' hard to get here", because it trails a scent of of "And so I deserve this success". Saying "I'm just lucky" is a way of defusing that. Also, the opposite - inspiration descended from on high - is somewhat the same: just in the right place at the right time.
One of the things I wanted to do with This is Not a Book was actually evoke what it feels like to write a book: the time, the muddle, the back- and arse-ache, the occasional blinding flash of an idea, the weeks and months of then working that out into actual words...
Kind-of disappointed you're not going ahead with the argument from economic and social history - that sounded interesting! But I think I know where you were going. This is Not a Book About Charles Darwin was really successful at revealing how you felt throughout the process as well as what has to go into creating a new novel. That was what I loved about the book actually: you were very open about how it all felt. Probably put my off writing another novel for years, to be honest, for which the world may be truly grateful:)
I must've watched the same interview with Mr Caine - I think he went on to explain how he never blinks in close-ups. I have now developed an annoying habit when watching any of his films - obsessively monitoring if he ever does blink in films and futhermore, though I know this does me no benefit to admit, this has extended to other actors in other films, noticing when they do blink and thinking "ah! Michael Caine'd be annoyed with you." What was that at the back? Get a what? Hmmm.
I don't think it's at all necessary to *always* read in this hybrid immersive-but-also-conscious way - in fact the risk is that you lose touch with your fundamental reading-loving self. Art should always remember that it's supposed to be fun...
Similarly to thinking about a bad book as a good one, when one meets a book which seems very technically self-conscious or showy-offy, there's a comparable kind of giving the author the benefit of the doubt which is well worth doing, at least temporarily, as part of one's writing-training. Starting from the assumption that they weren't trying to make mere mortals gasp, but had a creative purpose in writing it as they did - what might that purpose have been? Why might they have genuine reasons of craft and art to do it that way? One still doesn't have to like the book... (I seriously don't get on with Hardy as I don't with Mahler, but I know they wholly deserve their place in the Great Art camp)
Ha! Which isn't to say that I haven't felt exactly as you do about such a book, on occasion. There are undoubtedly some arrogant/snobbish/pleased-with-themselves authors out there, no question - and yet some of them write books I love. But as in life, so in writing: I find it all works better if I assume good intentions in the work itself, until the evidence is unmissably to the contrary.
One last thought - when I'm judging competitions, one of my ways of choosing between the best of the entries - the shortlist, as it were - is see which of them "turn me back into a reader": despite my racking my writerly discern-o-meter up to the max, which ones draw me helplessly into the story. So you could say that when you realise you've "forgotten" to read like a writer, it's a tribute to the book that's done that. (In which case, of course, it would probably be worth going back to it and figuring out what had that effect.. But at a later date.)
This is so valuable, Emma. I love the detail questions. The point about instinctive artists made me laugh because it's so true - value is often placed on some myth of instinctive talent and I'm sure many a performer or creator is tempted to line up behind it. I wonder also if, at least in British culture, we're not fond of people trying too hard either. The last thing we want to hear from an actor is that he spends hours every day training, studying and practising to perfect his art; we want to hear that he feels inspired by all that's happened to him but of course he's been lucky!
"The last thing we want to hear from an actor is that he spends hours every day training, studying and practising to perfect his art"
Although I do - but then I'm obsessesd with creative process... Totally agree that British culture worships amateurism - always has - and despises or mistrusts professionalism. (I could stand a wobbly argument up about our unique economic and social history, gentry as a capitalist class, super-early urbanisation etc. but I won't). But yes, for whatever reason, there's an embarrassment about being seen to try too hard, in anything from (not) polishing shoes to Boorish Johnson's faux-stammering speech-giving.
Thinking about this post this morning, I suddenly wondered if in our culture, so formed by the Protestant Work Ethic, it sounds self-congratulatory to say "And I worked bloomin' hard to get here", because it trails a scent of of "And so I deserve this success". Saying "I'm just lucky" is a way of defusing that. Also, the opposite - inspiration descended from on high - is somewhat the same: just in the right place at the right time.
One of the things I wanted to do with This is Not a Book was actually evoke what it feels like to write a book: the time, the muddle, the back- and arse-ache, the occasional blinding flash of an idea, the weeks and months of then working that out into actual words...
Kind-of disappointed you're not going ahead with the argument from economic and social history - that sounded interesting! But I think I know where you were going. This is Not a Book About Charles Darwin was really successful at revealing how you felt throughout the process as well as what has to go into creating a new novel. That was what I loved about the book actually: you were very open about how it all felt. Probably put my off writing another novel for years, to be honest, for which the world may be truly grateful:)
I must've watched the same interview with Mr Caine - I think he went on to explain how he never blinks in close-ups. I have now developed an annoying habit when watching any of his films - obsessively monitoring if he ever does blink in films and futhermore, though I know this does me no benefit to admit, this has extended to other actors in other films, noticing when they do blink and thinking "ah! Michael Caine'd be annoyed with you." What was that at the back? Get a what? Hmmm.